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26
TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
followers as hung round the train of the Duke of Wellington's army in the Low Countries in 1815, and led it, dancing and feasting, up to the very brink of battle. A certain ball that was given at Brussels on the fifteenth of June is historical. It was at this ball that Amelia's misery reached its climax. Her husband flirted and danced with Becky thruout the entire evening, while his poor little bride sat neglected and alone, save for the kind attentions of the faithful Dobbin. At last, when Amelia saw her husband tuck a note into Becky's bouquet, she turned to Dobbin piteously.
"Oh, take me home," she begged; "please take me home. I can bear it no longer."
Dobbin's heart burned with indignation as he escorted Amelia to her apartment, and he returned to the hall, determined to remonstrate with her fickle husband, and to send him home to his wife.
"Come away, George," he said, upon arriving at the ballroom, where he soon heard the war news. "The enemy has passed the Sambre and our left is already engaged. We are to march in three hours. Go home to your poor wife. ' '
Away went George Osborne, his nerves quivering at the sudden news. He thought about a thousand things in his rapid walk to his quarters — of his past life and future chances; of the fate which might be before him; of the wife, from whom he might be about to part, forever. He entered Amelia's bedroom softly. By the pale night lamp he could see her sweet, sad face. The purple eyelids were fringed and closed, and one round arm lay outside of the coverlet. Heartshamed and stricken, he bent noiselessly over the pillow, toward the lovely face. Two fair arms closed tenderly around his neck.
"I am awake, George," she said, with a sob fit to break the little heart that nestled so closely against his own.
She was awake, poor child, and to what ? At that moment a bugle from
AMELIA BIDS GEORGE GOOD-BY
the Place d'Armes began sounding clearly, and was taken up thru the town, and amidst the drums of the infantry, and the shrill pipes of the Scotch, the whole city awoke.
The sun was just rising as the march began. It was a gallant sight, the bands playing, the colors flying, the gay tints of the uniforms reflected in the glowing sunlight. But dreadful doubt and anguish, fears and griefs unutterable, followed the regiment. It was woman's tribute to war. The brilliant, pleasure-loving little city, which had been so gay the night before, was hushed and frightened now, and thruout long hours the women waited and listened. At last, a dull, distant sound came over the sunlit roofs. A thousand pale and anxious faces were instantly looking out from their casements, and presently it seemed as if the whole population of the city was in the streets. Crowds rushed to the Namur Gate, from which direction the noise proceeded. The merchants closed their shops and came out to swell the general chorus of alarm and clamor. Women rushed to the churches and knelt and prayed on the steps. The