The surging back and forth of seven score thousand men, the tread of horses and the wheels of hundreds of cannon raised it in such quantities that it covered the forest and the armies with a vast whitish curtain.

Even in the darkness it showed dim and ghastly like a funeral veil.
Out of that fatal forest came a dreadful moaning.

Dick did not know whether it was the wind among the leaves or the dying.

Once more the ghosts of the year before walked the fatal field, but the ghosts of this year would be a far greater company.

They had not broken the trap and Dick knew that the battle was far from over.
It would be renewed in the morning with greater fierceness than ever, but he was grateful for the present darkness and rest.