breast. The old man struck out weakly,
dropped his sword and fell, pierced by a dozen wounds, but still
breathing. Talbot, who was as yet unharmed, though covered with blood
and dust, his hat gone, stepped across his body.

He might have retreated, being young and active; but that was not the
custom of his family, neither would he abandon the body of his brave
commander; besides, every moment of delay was precious. Surely they
would be reinforced and rallied; he knew the promptness of Washington
too well to doubt it for a moment; and, last of all, what was life
without Kate? One glance he cast to the bright sky, flushed with the
first rays of the rising sun, and then he stood on guard. The young
man's eyes were burning with the intoxication of the fight, and his
soul filled with great resolve; but his sword-play was as cool and as
rapid as it had been in the Salle des Armes at Paris, where few could
be found to master him. The little group of British paused a moment in
admiration of his courage.

"One at a time, gentlemen," he cried, smiling, and warding off a
vicious bayonet thrust. "Are there none here who will cross swords
with me, for the honor of their flag?"

The young lieutenant in command of that part of the line promptly
sprang forward and engaged; the two blades rang fiercely together, and
grated along each other a moment later. The men stepped back. But the
brave lieutenant had met his match, and, with set lips and iron arm,
Talbot drove home his blade in the other's heart. Ere he could recover
himself or withdraw his sword, he was beaten to his knees by a blow
from a gun-barrel; the blood ran down over his face.

"Surrender! surrender!" they cried to him, "and we will spare your
life."

For answer his hand sought his remaining pistol. The first one of his
opponents fell dead with a bullet through his heart, and the next
moment the deadly steel of a bayonet was buried in Talbot's throat.

"Kate--Kate!" he cried in agony, the blood bubbling from his lips, and
then another bayonet found his gallant heart; and he sank down on his
face, at the foot of the dying officer, his lips kissing the soil of
that country in defence of whose liberties he had fallen.

As was customary with his family, he had died on the field, grimly
facing fearful odds to the last. The last of his line, he had made a
good ending, not unworthy his distinguished ancestry; for none of the
proud and gallant race had ever die