The faces of the listeners were full of grave interest.  The strangeness of the coincidence struck them all.

“And then?” queried Howe, after a silence.

“Then came the news of this war, and some Highland regiments were ordered off.  My father and I were amongst those to go.  We were long in hearing what our destination was to be.  We had landed upon these shores before we heard that the expedition to which we were attached was bound for Ticonderoga.”

Again there was silence, which Mrs. Schuyler broke by asking gently: 

“And your father thinks that there is some doom connected with that name?”

“He is convinced that be will meet his death there,” replied Alexander, “and I confess I fear the same myself.”

Nobody spoke for a minute, and then Mrs. Schuyler said softly: 

“It is a strange, weird story; yet it cannot but be true.  No man could guess at such a name.  Ticonderoga, Ticonderoga.  I wonder what will be the end of that day!”

“And what matters the end if we do our duty to the last?” spoke Lord Howe, lifting his bright young face and throwing back his head with a gesture that his friends knew well.  “A man can but die once.  For my part, I only ask to die sword in hand and face to the foe, doing my duty to my country, my heart at peace with God.  That is the spirit with which we soldiers must go into battle.  We are sent there by our country; we fight for her.  If need be we die for her.  Can we ask a nobler death?  For myself I do not.  Let it come to me at Ticonderoga, or wherever Providence wills, I will not shrink or fear.  Give me only the power to die doing my duty, and I ask no more.”

There was a beautiful light in his great hazel eyes, a sweet smile hovered round his lips.  Fritz, looking at him, seemed to see something in his face which he had scarcely noted before—­a depth, a serenity, a beauty quite apart from the dashing gallantry of look and bearing which was his most salient characteristic.

Into the eyes of Mrs. Schuyler there had sprung sudden tears.  She went over to the young man and laid a hand upon his head.

“Thank God that our soldiers still go into battle in that spirit; that they make their peace with Him before they draw sword upon their fellow men.  A soldier’s life is a strange paradox; yet God, who is the God of battles as well as Prince of Peace, knows and understands.  He will bless the righteous cause, though He may call to rest many a gallant soldier, and still in death many an ardent young heart.  But however mysteriously He works, we are instruments in His hands.  Let us strive to be worthy of that honour, and then we shall know that we are helping to bring nearer His kingdom upon earth, which, when once set up, shall bring in a reign of peace, where war shall be no more.”

“Amen, with all my heart!” quoth Lord Howe, and there was a light in his eyes which bespoke that, soldier though he was to his fingertips, he was no stranger to the hope of the eternal peace which the Lord alone can give.