So great were the delays that it was evening when the train reached Dijon. Ralph had scarcely stepped out on to the platform when Percy bounded upon him, and threw his arms round his neck.

"Dear, dear old Ralph! Thank God you are back again."

"My dear Percy, where did you spring from?"

"I have been home five days. I was still down at Marseilles, when I heard that Dijon was open again; and I came straight up.

"And how are you, Ralph?"

"Oh, I am getting all right again. How are they all, at home?"

"Well—quite well—but dreadfully anxious about you."

By this time the boys were out of the station, and were walking homeward.

"But you have not told me how you happened to be at the station."

"Well, I was waiting there, just on the chance of seeing you. Mamma was so dreadfully anxious about you that I wanted to do something. At any rate, I could not sit quiet at home. There are never more than two trains with passengers in a day, sometimes only one; so I have been staying down in the town, most of the days since I came home—having paid one of the railway people to send me word, directly the train was telegraphed as starting from Dole."

"How long is it since my letter arrived?"

"Nearly three weeks, Ralph; fortunately it came four or five days before a letter from Tempe, saying that he feared you were killed. Not having heard again, they were terribly anxious."

"I had no means of writing," Ralph said. "The English ambulance—through whom my letter was sent—moved down to Vendome, the very day after I wrote; and I had no other way of sending my letter."

"I said it was something of that sort. I pointed out to them that it was evident, by what you said, that the fever had passed off, and that you only wanted strength; but that being in hiding, of course, you could not write. I gave you three weeks to get strong enough to start, and four or five days to manage to get through the lines; so that by my calculation you were just due, when you arrived.

"It has pulled you down, Ralph, very much. I wish I had been there to nurse you."

"Thank you, Percy. Fortunately I did fall into very good hands, and was well looked after. I hope papa has not been over anxious about me?"

"I think he has been nervous, Ralph; but he did not show it, but talked cheerfully to keep up mamma and Milly."

"And are you quite strong again, Percy?"

"Yes, I think I am nearly as strong as ever, Ralph.

"There, we are just at the house, now. You had better wait outside; while I go in and let them know, gradually, that you are home. I came in like a fool, suddenly, and mamma fainted—she says for the first time in her life—and Milly went into hysterics, and cried and laughed so wildly that you might have heard her in Dijon. She frightened me nearly out of my senses."

Ralph remained, accordingly, outside the door; while Percy went in alone. The others had finished tea.

"You are a little late, Percy," Mrs. Barclay said. "We gave you twenty minutes' law. It is not the least matter, your being late; but I do not think it is wise to be out, these bitter nights, until you are quite strong."

"I am quite strong, mamma, as strong as ever," Percy laughed; but his laugh was, in spite of himself, a little unnatural.

His father looked sharply up.

Percy sat down, and drank a little of the tea his mother handed to him.

"I waited for the train to come in," he said, "and—of course it may not be so—but I heard of someone who, by the description, seemed to be Ralph."

"What was it, Percy, what was it?" Milly cried; while her mother gazed at him with a pale face, and appealing eyes.

"Don't agitate yourself, mamma dear—you see, it may not be true, after all—but among the people in the train was one who had come straight from Bourges. I spoke to him, and he said that he had heard—by a friend who had come straight from Vierzon—that a young officer had just arrived there, in disguise; who had been wounded, and in hiding, ever since the capture of Orleans. You know, mamma, it is just the time I calculated he would be coming; and from the fact of his being a young staff officer, and in disguise, I have very little doubt it is Ralph."

Captain Barclay rose from his seat and—standing for a moment behind his wife's chair—looked at Percy, and then at the door, inquiringly. Percy nodded.

Captain Barclay leaned over, and kissed his wife

"Thank God, dear, for all His mercies! Another day or two, and we shall be having him home."

"Thank God, indeed!" Mrs. Barclay said; "but though I hope—though I try to think it was him—perhaps it was not, perhaps—"

"No, mamma," Percy said, "from some particulars he gave, and from what he said, I feel almost sure—I may say I am quite sure—it is Ralph. I would not say so, you know, unless I felt very certain."

Mrs. Barclay felt that he would not, and fell into her husband's arms, crying softly with happiness.

Milly was no longer in the room. She had caught the glance between her father and Percy, and had rightly interpreted it. She had risen to her feet, but a warning gesture from Captain Barclay had checked the cry of gladness on her lips; and she had stolen quietly from the room, closed the door noiselessly, had flown to the front door and out into the road beyond, and was now crying happily in Ralph's arms.

"And when do you think he can get here, Richard?" Mrs. Barclay asked her husband.

"Soon, dear—quite soon," he answered. "He may come tomorrow. He would be certain to come almost as quickly as the news."

"Oh, how happy I am!" Mrs. Barclay said. "Thank God for His mercies! To think that, tomorrow, I may have both my boys back again."

"Will there be another train in, tonight, Percy?" Captain Barclay asked.

"Quite possibly," Percy said; "indeed, indeed,"—and he hesitated—"you see, I walked up fast; it is just possible that he may have arrived by this train."

Mrs. Barclay understood now.

"He is come," she exclaimed, looking up. "I know it, now."

Captain Barclay took her up in his arms.

"You can bear it, can't you, Melanie? Yes, dear, he has come."

Percy saw that it was safe now. He went to the door, and opened it. Ralph was standing outside, in readiness; and in another moment his mother was in his arms.

Later in the evening, Captain Barclay said to Ralph:

"I suppose tomorrow you will obtain a medical certificate, and write to General Chanzy: saying that you are alive, but unable to rejoin?"

"Yes," Ralph answered, "I suppose that will be the best plan. I must have a month's rest."

"That means, my dear boy, that you will not have to go out any more. Another month will see the end of the struggle—or at any rate, if the end has not absolutely arrived, it will be unmistakable.

"The game is, I am convinced, altogether lost. A fortnight ago, I had still hope. Chanzy and Bourbaki had each an army, nearly or quite equal to that of Prince Frederick Charles. He could not attack one in force, without leaving the road to Paris open to the other.

"Bourbaki has come upon this mad expedition to the east; and you will see Prince Frederick Charles will throw his whole strength upon Chanzy, crush him, and then attend to Bourbaki. Bourbaki may relieve Belfort, but in that corner of France what is he to do? Prussian reinforcements are coming down to Werder, every day. Troops are marching on this town from Paris and, if Bourbaki is not wonderfully quick, we shall have another Sedan here.

"After the defeat of these, the last two armies of France, it would be madness to continue the war. Paris must surrender, for there would be no further possibility of relief; and there would be no advantage, whatever, in enduring further sufferings.

"No, my boys, I said 'Go' when I thought that there was a possibility of saving France. You have done your duty—more than your duty. It would be worse than folly—it would be wickedness—to voluntarily put your lives into danger, when success has ceased to be possible. I should be the last man to hinder you from what was your duty. I said 'Go' before, when few fathers would have said so. I would say 'Go' again, now, if your duty called you; but as you can both obtain sick leave, for another six weeks, I say take that leave. Do not do more than your duty, for heroism is now of no use to France."

"I agree with you altogether, papa," Ralph said. "I have seen, and had, quite enough fighting for my lifetime. Of course, if the war goes on Percy and I, as officers, must return to our duty, but I am willing to obtain all the sick leave I can get; for although I still believe in the individual bravery of the French soldiers, I am quite convinced that it is altogether out of the question that—with their want of organization, want of generals, want of officers, want of discipline, want of everything—they can drive out the magnificent armies of Germany.

"Has Percy got his leave extended?"

"Yes," Percy said; "I am fairly well, but I am still shaky. I have not quite got over that swim; and the surgeon said, without my applying for it, that I must have prolonged rest so, at the end of the month, he extended it for two months longer.

"I thoroughly agree with you both. We have had quite enough of it. We shall always have the satisfaction that we did our duty to France, and our rank; and these ribbons,"—and he touched the rosette of the legion of honor, in his buttonhole—"will prove that we have distinguished ourselves. We have had great good fortune, hitherto; it might turn, next time."

And so it was settled that the boys should remain at home, for the next two months; by which time they agreed, with their father, the resistance would be fairly worn out. Ralph wrote to General Chanzy, relating the whole circumstances of his absence. General Chanzy wrote in reply—in spite of the demands upon his time—saying how pleased he was that Ralph had escaped, as he had quite given him up. He ended his note by saying that he had already mentioned his name, in dispatches, and should now make a fresh report.

Colonel Tempe—or rather General Tempe, for he now commanded a brigade—wrote also to congratulate him. One portion of his letter contained bad news; for he mentioned that Tim had lost an arm, at the battle of the 8th December, but that he was now doing well.

Those were exciting days at Dijon. The news of the victory at Villersexel, followed by the fighting which ended in the capture of Montbeliard; and then the obstinate contests near Belfort, when Bourbaki in vain endeavored to drive back the Germans, and to relieve the besieged town—all this kept the excitement up, at fever heat.

It was not fated that the war should end without the boys seeing service once more for, upon the 21st, heavy firing was heard upon the northwest of Dijon. The Barclays' house was on the southwest of the town. Upon the northwest the ground rises in two steep hills—or rather one steep hill, with two summits about a mile apart. One of these summits is called Talant, the other Fontaine les Dijon. Behind the latter, and upon even higher ground—at a distance of two and three miles, respectively—lay the villages of Daix and Hauteville.

It was about ten o'clock in the morning that the boys heard the faint boom of a cannon.

"Listen, papa," Percy shouted; "there are cannon. The Prussians are attacking the heights, on the other side."

Captain Barclay came out into the garden, and listened for a while with them. The enemy had taken up positions upon some of the numerous heights surrounding, and were playing upon the batteries at Talant, Fontaine les Dijon, Daix, and Hauteville. The French replied vigorously; and it was evident that they were stronger, in artillery, than were the enemy.

"I fancy," Captain Barclay said, "that it is no attack. It is merely, I think, a fire opened to occupy our attention; in order that a body of troops may pass along to the northward of Dijon, to fall upon Bourbaki's rear. However, my place is with my company of national guards. There is no fear of an attack, at present; but they will get under arms no doubt."

"We will go down into the town with you, papa."

The firing continued until five o'clock, when it gradually died away, the Germans retiring. An hour later, the greater portion of the troops marched back to the town. The enemy, they reported, were not over 15,000 strong while, in all, the Garibaldians and mobilized national guards in the town were 30,000 to 40,000 strong. The French were also much stronger in artillery.

Captain Barclay returned home with the boys. They sat up late, talking over the affair, and it was nearly midnight when they went up to their rooms. Suddenly, they were startled by a fresh outburst of fire upon the heights. In a minute or two, all the household were in the garden.

"It is a night attack," Captain Barclay said; "and judging by the sound, they are in earnest. I can hear musketry, as well as artillery."

As they listened, it came nearer.

"They have taken Daix and Hauteville," Ralph said. "What shall we do, papa? We can't stay here, quiet. It is our plain duty to go down, and report ourselves to General Pelissier."

"I think you ought to do so," Captain Barclay answered, gravely.

The boys went off to put on their uniforms—for Ralph had replaced the one he had left behind, in the cottage near Orleans.

"I do not think you need be uneasy, Melanie," Captain Barclay said to his wife. "It is our duty to go; but I hardly think that they can have been reinforced in sufficient strength to attack the town."

The boys were soon down.

"Goodbye, mamma; goodbye, Milly. Don't be alarmed about us. We have no horses, and there can be no risk of our being sent on any perilous service, tonight."

Two silent kisses, and then father and sons hurried away towards the town.

"They have taken Fontaine les Dijon," Ralph said. "We shall soon see if they are in earnest."

Dijon they found in utter confusion. Mounted orderlies galloped about. The troops were all under arms. Engineers were at work, crenelating the walls and houses upon the side threatened with attack. General Garibaldi was sitting in his carriage, in readiness to move in any direction, instantly. General Pelissier—who commanded the mobilized guards—was in his office, and staff officers came in and out with reports, every five minutes.

The boys entered, and briefly reported themselves for service. They had already reported their presence in the place, upon their arrival.

"Thank you, gentlemen," he said. "I do not think that you can be of any use, just at present; but if the Germans press the attack, I shall be greatly obliged. In that case, please dismount two of the orderlies, and take their horses."

The night passed off, however, quietly. The Germans, satisfied with the advantage, remained in the positions they had taken; and the French prepared to drive them back again, in the morning.

At daybreak, the troops began to pour out from the town; and the cannonade commenced with greater fury on both sides. Two of the orderlies, in obedience to General Pelissier's orders, gave up their horses to the Barclays; who rode out with the general's staff. The Prussians had evidently been reinforced, in the night; but the French nevertheless gained ground, gradually. After several hours' heavy cannonading, the Mobilises were ordered to take the position of Fontaine les Dijon, with the bayonet. Three Zouaves—who happened to be present—took their places at the head of the column and, at the double, they went up the hill amidst a storm of shot and shell. The Germans did not await the assault, but fell back upon Daix.

The spirit of the Mobilises was now up and, still led by the three Zouaves, they dashed forward. The resistance here was obstinate; but the Germans were driven back, with great loss. The pursuers gave them no rest; but went forward at the double, and drove them out of Hauteville at the bayonet's point, thus winning back all the positions lost in the night. The Barclays had little to do during the affair as, after the orders had once been given, the spirit of the troops carried them on over everything. The loss upon both sides was considerable, and one of General Werder's sons was among the prisoners taken by the French.

The fight over, the boys returned home for a few hours. Their father had come in half an hour before them.

The next morning they returned, at daybreak, to Dijon. The Prussians had received considerable reinforcements, in the night; and had executed a long detour, advancing this time by the Langres Road, nearly due north of the city. They left the road and took up their position upon a plateau, near the village of Pouilly, about three miles from Dijon. The French positions were about a mile nearer to the town, extending from the foot of Fontaine les Dijon through the villages of Saint Marten, and Fontaine.

From the morning, until three in the day, a heavy artillery fire was kept up, on both sides. At that hour, the Prussians gave signs of an intention to advance. Their artillery took up fresh positions, their fire increased in rapidity, and it was evident that the crisis of the day was at hand. Up to this time, the boys had had but little to do. Sitting on their horses, or leaning against them, they had chatted with the officers of the general staff. At this period, however, General Garibaldi drew up; and there was a brief consultation between him and General Pelissier. A few hasty orders were given and, in an instant, the whole of the staff were dashing away to different parts of the ground.

"Charge in line!" was the order and, forming shoulder to shoulder, the Garibaldians and Mobiles moved forward in a grand line, a mile and a half long; uttering loud and inspiriting cheers. The boys had been sent to the regiments next to each other and, their message delivered, they joined each other and rode on with the advancing line.

"This is grand, Ralph," Percy said, enthusiastically. "We have seen a good many defeats. We are going to wind up with a victory, at last."

For a while the Germans stood their ground, pouring a shower of shot and shell into the advancing French; but the dash and go of the latter—excited by their successes of the two preceding days—were irresistible. The Germans wavered and fell back as the French advanced and, from that moment, the fate of the day was decided. Isolated German regiments fought desperately, but in vain. The French pushed them back, from position to position, until nightfall covered the retreat.

The German loss was very heavy; and the French, in addition to a considerable number of prisoners, had the satisfaction of taking a German color—the only one captured throughout the war.

This was the last fight in which the Barclays took part during the war. The boys escaped unhurt; as did their father, who had joined one of the regiments of Mobiles, and had advanced with them.

The events followed fast, day after day. In rapid succession, they heard of the defeat of Chanzy at Le Mans, the retreat of Bourbaki; the terrible sufferings of the troops, as they fell back upon the Swiss frontier, for refuge. Simultaneously with the news of this retreat came the intelligence of the surrender of Paris, and of the armistice and, grieving over France's misfortune, they were yet heartily rejoiced that the hopeless contest was over.

No sooner were the preliminaries of peace signed than Captain Barclay carried out his intention of leaving for England. Monsieur Duburg had already agreed to purchase the cottage, and adjoining grounds; which he intends for Louis, when he marries. The Barclays were sorry to leave their uncle and cousins, but there was no great grief with reference to the separation from Madame Duburg.

General Tempe they parted from with regret. That officer's fighting days were over, for he lost a leg in the battle before Le Mans.

Ralph obtained the step as major, in consequence of General Chanzy's report in his favor, but he never put on the uniform of the rank; nor is it likely that he ever will do so, although he hopes, some day, to attain the grade in the British service. He is at present studying hard for an examination in the artillery which, if practical knowledge goes for anything, he is pretty certain to get.

Percy has had enough of fighting, and his present idea is that he shall go to the Bar; but he has plenty of time before him, yet. Both never boast of their achievements—indeed, are straightforward, unaffected English lads, still—and it is only to intimate friends that they ever speak of their adventures in the war.

The Barclays live now a short distance out of London; and the pony chaise in which Captain Barclay drives his wife and Milly can be seen, any day, on the Richmond road. If you stop and watch it turn into the little drive, up to the house, you will observe that a one-armed man—who has previously been busy in the garden—throws down his spade, and takes the ponies off to the stables and, should he not happen to be at the front of the house, as the ponies draw up, you will hear Milly summon him with a loud call of "Tim!"

THE END