Mildred, attended by Allen Musgrove and his daughter, still maintained her position on the knoll, and from this height surveyed the preparations for combat with a beating heart. The scene within her view was one of intense occupation. The air of stern resolve that sat upon every brow; the silent but onward movement of the masses of men advancing to conflict; the few brief and quick words of command that fell from the distance upon her ear; the sullen beat of the hoof upon the sod, as an occasional horseman sped to and fro between the more remote bodies and the centre division, which yet stood in compact phalanx immediately below her at the foot of the hill; then the breathless anxiety of her companions near at hand, and the short note of dread, and almost terror, that now and then escaped from the lips of Mary Musgrove, as the maiden looked eagerly and fearfully abroad over the plain; all these incidents wrought upon her feelings and caused her to tremble. Yet, amidst these novel emotions, she was not insensible to a certain lively and even pleasant interest, arising out of the picturesque character of the spectacle. The gay sunshine striking aslant these moving battalions, lighting up their fringed and many-colored hunting-shirts, and casting a golden hue upon their brown and weather-beaten faces, brought out into warm relief the chief characteristics of this peculiar woodland army. And Mildred sometimes forgot her fears in the fleeting inspiration of the sight, as she watched the progress of an advancing column—at one time moving in close ranks, with the serried thicket of rifles above their heads, and at another deploying into files to pass some narrow path, along which, with trailed arms and bodies bent, they sped with the pace of hunters beating the hill-side for game. The tattered and service-stricken banner that shook its folds in the wind above these detached bodies, likewise lent its charm of association to the field the silence and steadfastness of the array in which it was borne, and its constant onward motion; showing it to be encircled by strong arms and stout hearts.
Turning from these, the lady's eye was raised, with a less joyous glance, towards the position of the enemy. On the most prominent point of the mountain's crest she could descry the standard of England fluttering above a concentrated body, whose scarlet uniforms, as the sun glanced upon them through the forest, showed that here Ferguson had posted his corps of regulars, and held them ready to meet the attack of the centre division of the assailants; whilst the glittering of bayonets amidst the dark foliage, at intervals, rearward along the line of the summit, indicated that heavy detachments were stationed in this quarter to guard the flanks. The marching and countermarching of the frequent corps, from various positions on the summit; the speeding of officers on horseback, and the occasional movement of small squadrons of dragoons, who were at one moment seen struggling along the sides of the mountain, and, at another, descending towards the base or returning to the summit, disclosed the earnestness and activity of the preparation with which a courageous soldier may be supposed to make ready for his foe.
It was with a look of sorrowful concern which brought tears into her eyes, that Mildred gazed upon this host, and strained her vision in the vain endeavor to catch some evidences of the presence of Arthur Butler.
"We both look, perchance," she said to herself, "at this very instant, upon yon hateful banner—and with the same aversion: but oh, with what more painful apprehension it is my fortune to behold it! Little does he think that Mildred's eyes are turned upon it. 'Tis well he does not—his noble heart would chafe itself with ten-fold anguish at the cruel thraldom that separates us. Yes, 'tis well he does not dream that his Mildred is here to witness this dreadful struggle," she continued, musing over the subject of her grief, "it might tempt him to some rash endeavor to break his bondage. It is better as it is; the misery of the thought of our afflictions should be mine only; the brave patience of a manly soldier is his, and should not be embittered with sorrows that belong not to the perils of war."
"Sister," said Henry, who had stolen up the hill unobserved, and now stood beside Mildred, "take courage and keep a good heart! The very day I often prayed to see has come—and it has come sooner than you promised it should. Here I am in the field, amongst men, and no play-game is it, either, to keep us busy, but downright earnest battle. And then, dear sister, you are here to look on—isn't that a piece of good luck?"
"Ah, brother, I could talk to you with a boastful tongue when all around us was peace and security. I cannot exhort you now. If I dare, I would beg you to stay by my side. I have need of your comfort, and shudder with a chilly fear. Henry, that small hand of yours can do no service to-day—and in truth, I cannot bear to see you exposed to danger."
"In tears, sister! Come now, this is not like you. Hasn't Arthur fought many a day and often? And didn't you set him on, with good brave words for it?"
"I was not there to see him," interrupted Mildred.
"Well, sister, I must get to my post," said Henry. "I serve as aide-de-camp, and Horse Shoe is to help me. By-the-by, Mildred, the sergeant is uncommonly silent and busy to-day. He smells this battle like an old soldier, and I heard him give a few hints to Campbell, concerning the marching up yonder hill:—he told him the column should not display until they got near the top, as Ferguson has no cannon; and the Colonel took it very gladly. Horse Shoe, moreover, thinks we will beat them—and the men have great dependence on what he says. I shall not lose sight of him to-day."
"For Heaven's sake, Henry," exclaimed Mildred, "my dear brother, do not think of following the sergeant! I cannot part with you," she added, with great earnestness; "it is an awful time for brother and sister to separate—stay with me."