separated, the latter being of those who remained in the swamp to keep up appearances.  It was a clever bit of strategy, and, before Villeroy realized the truth, Tavieres had been rushed with a splendid charge.  The fact that the attack on Anderkirk had been only a feint came to the French commander’s understanding too late.  His centre, with the village of Ramillies and the Tomb of Ottomond commanding it, the really important positions of the day, was weakened by the loss of troops sent on a wild-goose chase.

Ere Villeroy could repair the mischief and summon his men from Anderkirk, Marlborough had sent down upon the French centre a great body of cavalry under the command of Auerkerke, the Dutch general.  English and Dutch horse combined in this assault, and George Fairburn found himself one of a host dashing upon the village of Ramillies.  There was a terrific shock, a few moments of fierce onslaught, and the first line of the enemy gave way.  Through the broken and disorganized line the cavalry swept, to charge the second.

Another shock, even greater than the first.  The Frenchmen of the second line stood firm, for were they not the famous Household Regiment—­the Maison du Roi—­of Louis, and probably the finest troops in Europe.  The advance of the Allies was instantly checked.  In vain Auerkerke urged on his men; in vain those men renewed the attack.  The enemy stood steadfast; they began to drive back their antagonists; the position of the Allies was becoming critical.

“Go and inform the Duke!  Quick, quick!” the Dutchman called out to a young officer whom he had observed fighting with the utmost determination near by, but who had stopped for a moment to recover his breath.

It happened to be Lieutenant Fairburn, and George once more found himself face to face with the Duke, for the first time since he had met him after the rush of the French defence line near Tirlemont last year.  Marlborough, the youth could see by his quick glance, knew him again.  In a word or two George delivered his startling message.

“By Jove, sir,” declared the subaltern, when telling his story to his colonel afterwards, “never did I see so spry a bit of work as I did when I had said my little say.  The Duke was ten men rolled into one, sir.  Orders here, there, and everywhere; fellows sent darting about like hares.  In a few minutes—­minutes!  I was going to say seconds—­every sabre had been got together, and we were all tumbling over each other in our hurry to get along to the fight.  It was a fine thing, sir.”

The commander, sword in hand, led his reinforcement to the fatal spot with the speed of the whirlwind.  He had almost reached it when he was suddenly set upon by a company of young bloods belonging to the Maison du Roi.  They were nobles for the most part, and utterly reckless of their lives.  Recognizing the Duke, they made a desperate attempt to secure him, closing round him with a dash.