For a few moments he could see nothing. Then there came into sight, rising out of a hollow, the head and broad shoulders of a horseman. As he progressed, more and more of his figure appealed as he ascended a slope, till at last the horse was in full view, but directly afterwards they seemed to top the ascent and begin to go down on the other side, with the sun flashing from stirrup and buckle, and from the hilt of the rider's sword. There were other bright flashes too all around, but they were from the dewdrops which spangled grass and leaf, as the rider seemed to grow shorter, his horse disappearing, till only his head and shoulders appeared above the ridge, and then they passed away, and the pit-pat of the horse's hoofs died out.

"Gone!" said Fred, thoughtfully. "No! there he is again;" and he strained his eyes to gaze at the tiny distant form of the military-looking man who had made so strong an impression upon him, but he did not become visible; it was only the sound of his horse's hoofs which were heard for the space of a minute, faint but clear, on the morning air. Then all was silent.

"I half like that Captain Miles," said Fred to himself. "Wish I was going with him. Wonder where he has gone? To Plymouth, perhaps."

Fred began to dress, after hesitating whether he should go to bed again. But the bright morning was so attractive, and after the first application of cold water, he felt a positive eagerness to get out in the fresh air.

All the time he was dressing his head was full of his confused dream and the fight in the narrow passage, while the events of the preceding day had so impressed him that he hurried downstairs, glanced at the hall clock, which pointed to a quarter to five, and, taking his hat, ran out, and down the garden.

"Morning, Master Fred," came from behind the hedge; and it was so sudden that the lad jumped.

"You, Samson?" he cried. "Yes; I've been starting that gen'leman who come yesterday. Had to get up at four and have his horse ready. Going fishing?"

"No; only for a walk."

"Over to the Hall?"

"Yes, Samson," replied the lad, impatiently. "Then, if you see that bad brother o' mine, Master Fred, don't you speak to him. I'm getting ashamed of him."

"No: he's getting ashamed of you, Sam," cried Fred, tauntingly. "What?"

"Well, he said so last night."

"Ashamed of me, sir. I should like to see him be 'shamed of me. I'd give him something to be 'shamed about."

"Oh yes, of course," cried Fred; and he ran on, forgetting all about the gardener in his eagerness to get to the lake.

The birds were twittering and singing in the woods and coppices, the soft, silvery mists were rising from the hollow, and each broad fern frond glistened as if set with tiny jewels of every prismatic hue. Away too in the distance, as he topped a hill, one corner of the Hall lake could be seen glistening like burnished silver set in a frame of vivid green.

But these were too common objects to take the boy's attention as he walked up the hill slope and trotted down the other side, for he was intent upon one thing only, a faint indication of which was given by his exclaiming once—

"How surprised old Scar will be!"

It was not to go under his window and rouse Scar by throwing pebbles up at the lattice-pane, for instead of taking the dewy path round, by the high trees, which would have taken him at once to the house, Fred ran down the sharp slope into the little coombe, through which ran off the surplus waters of the lake. Here there was a clump of alders growing amongst the sandstone rocks, and three of the larger trees had been cut down to act as posts, to one of which the old flat-bottomed boat was fastened by a chain.

The boy had about fifty yards to go through this clump of alders, a little winding path trampled by the cattle forming his way; and along this he turned, so as to get to the opening where the trees had been cut down, and the boat lay.

But before he was three-parts of the way through, he heard a peculiar scraping sound, followed by a splash, and then a repetition, and another repetition, in regular rhythm and measure.

Fred stopped short, listening. "How tiresome!" he muttered. "Scar must have told old Nat to bale her out before he went to bed. Wonder how long he'll be?" Evidently intending to wait until the man whom he heard was gone, Fred crept softly along, listening to the rhythmic splash of water, till he could peer through the thin growth at the person bailing out the boat.

No sooner did he catch sight of him than he dashed forward to where Scarlett sat on the edge of the old punt wielding a shallow iron pot.

"Fred!"

"Scar!"

"Why, what brought you over so soon?"

"What are you doing there?"

"Baling."

"Yes; and you were going over yonder without me?"

Scarlett sat tapping the gunwale of the boat with the pot, having ceased to bale.

"Yes, I knew you were," continued Fred, in an altered tone, as the other remained silent.

"Come, now, confess."

"I don't know that I need call it confessing," said Scarlett, throwing back his head and speaking haughtily. "It's our boat, and our lake, and that place is all ours."

"Yes; but we were schoolfellows, and we found it together."

Scarlett winced a little at this. "And you were going to steal a march and find it all out by yourself. I do call it mean," cried Fred, angrily. "I didn't think you'd do such a thing, Scar, and—"

"You thought just the same," said Scarlett, quickly, "and meant to take the boat before I was up, and that's why you are here."

He looked sharply at Fred, who thrust his hands in his pockets, and suddenly became interested in the movements of a bald coot, which was paddling in and out among the reeds which grew right into the lake.

"There now, you're found out too, and you're as bad as I am," cried Scarlett.

"Well, I only meant it as a surprise. Is she very leaky?"

Scarlett seemed disposed to hold off, but the interest of the project in hand swept all that away, and he replied sociably enough.

"No; she has been so deep in the water and got so soaked, that I don't think much comes in."

"Bale away, then," cried Fred.

"Suppose you have a turn. I'm getting hot."

Fred required no further hint, but stripping off his jerkin and rolling up his sleeves, he was soon at work scooping up the water and sending it flying and sparkling in the morning sunshine, while Scarlett sat and chatted.

"I didn't care to ask Nat to clean out the boat," he said, "for he's such an inquisitive fellow. He'd have wanted to know what I was going to do, and if I hadn't told him—"

"I know," said Fred, making a momentary iris as he sent the water flying, "he'd have hidden away and watched you."

"Yes; sure to."

"And Samson's just the same. I have to cheat him sometimes. But it didn't matter cheating old Nat. What I think was so shabby was trying to cheat me."

Scarlett was silent for a minute.

"I should have told you afterwards," he said. "Here, let me have a turn now."

"No; I shall finish," replied Fred, wielding the old pot with increased energy, "just to show you how forgiving I am."

"Ah! but you're found out too," cried Scarlett.

"Well, I didn't mean any harm," cried Fred, with a droll look, "and should have told you afterwards."

"Yes; but—"

"Look here," cried Fred, "you say another word about it, and I'll throw all the water over you."

"Let's make haste, then, and go and find the way in before breakfast."

For answer Fred scooped away at such a rate that he had soon cleared the boat down to the little well-like hollow arranged to catch the drainings.

"Now then," he cried, "I'm tired. You row."

Scarlett unhooked the chain, gave the boat a good thrust, seized the oars, and in ten minutes more they were coasting along as near to the bank as the overhanging trees and projecting bushes would allow.

For quite half an hour they searched to and fro, but without result. There were plenty of likely looking places overgrown with ivy, and sheltered by the willows, alders, and birches, but not one showed a sign of having been built up with rough blocks of stone, or presented a hole such as they had seen from the inside.

"We shall never find it like this," said Fred, at last.

"How are we to find it, then? And we must go soon, as some one will see us, and wonder what we are doing."

"Oh no; they'll only think we are fishing," said Fred. "I'll tell you how to find it."

"How?"

"We must cut a long willow, and strip it all but the leaves on the end."

"What for?"

"Then one of us must go down the opening yonder, wade along the passage, poke the stick out through the hole, and shout."

"Yes; that would do it nicely," said Scarlett. "But who's to do it?"

"Let's both go."

"Then we should be no wiser, because there would be no one out here to listen."

"No," said Fred; and then, "Let's have another try."

They had another try—a long and careful search, but the entrance had been too cunningly masked.

"It's of no use," said Scarlett, drawing in the oars. "One of us must go."

Silence. And Fred seemed to be deeply interested in the proceedings of a great flap-winged heron which had alighted on the further shore.

"Will you go, Fred?" said Scarlett, at last.

"No. It's your place, and you ought to go."

"Yes," said Scarlett, slowly; "I suppose I ought."

"No, no, I'll go," cried Fred, eagerly. "I will not be so shabby. Let's cut a stick, and then set me ashore."

Scarlett nodded, and resuming the rowing, ran the boat's head ashore, close to a clump of willows. Then, taking out his knife, he hacked off a rod about ten feet long, trimmed off the twigs and leaves, all but a patch on the end, and, before his companion could realise what he intended, he had leaped ashore, given the boat a thrust, and run up the bank.

"No, no," cried Fred. "I'll go."

"It's my place, and I shall go myself," replied his companion. "Take the oars and row gently along. I don't think I shall mind. If I do, I'll come back and you shall go."

"But you have no light."

"No," said Scarlett, gravely; "but I know the way now, and that there's no danger, so I shall not care." Before Fred could offer further remonstrance, Scarlett had run into the nearest patch of woodland and disappeared.

"I don't like letting him go," muttered Fred, as he gazed at the spot where his companion had disappeared. "It seems as if I were a coward. Perhaps I am, for it does seem shivery work to do. Never mind, I'll go next time," he added quickly; and, taking the oars, he sat down where his companion had vacated the seat, and began to row slowly back to where he fancied the entrance must be.

Then followed so long a period of waiting that the boy grew anxious, and after rowing to and fro for some time outside the thick growth which edged that portion of the lake, he made up his mind that something must be wrong, and determined to land and go in search of Scarlett.

"How horrible if he has waded into a deep place, and gone down!" he muttered, as he bent over the oars, to pull with all his might, when he fancied he heard a distant hail.

He ceased rowing, and the water rippled about beneath the front as he listened.

"Where are you?" he cried.

"Here," came from apparently a great distance.

"Where's here?"

"Here, here, here. Can't you see?"

The voice seemed to come from far away, and he drew in the oars, and stood up in the boat to look from side to side, searching eagerly, and trying to pierce the bushes and overhanging ivy, which screened the rocky shore.

"Here! Hoy!"

Fred faced round now, and looked across the lake, to see Nat standing on the farther shore.

"What are you doing? Got any?" shouted Nat.

Fred put his hands to the sides of his mouth, and shouted back.

"No! not yet."

"Where's Master Scarlett?"

"Ashore."

"Oh!"

"He thinks we've been setting eel-lines," muttered Fred, as, to his great annoyance, he saw the gardener seat himself on the distant bank and watch him.

"Oh, what a bother!" he cried, with an impatient stamp on the bottom of the boat. "Well, he must think so, then."

To induce the spy upon his proceedings to go on in this belief, Fred stooped down in the boat, and picked up and threw in an imaginary line. After which, he took up one oar, and, standing upright, began to paddle the boat in toward the bank, where a large birch drooped over and dipped its delicate sprays of leaves almost into the surface of the lake.

"I'll moor her fast here," thought Fred, "and go ashore and warn Scar. We can't do any more, with that fellow watching."

To this end, he paddled the boat close to the silver trunk of the birch, whose roots ran down into the clear water, forming quite a delicate fringe, amongst which the tiny perch loved to play.

He was in the act of fastening the chain as he stood up, and had passed it round one of the lower boughs, being fairly well screened now from Nat's observation by the delicate spray, when a fly seemed to tickle his ear.

Fred struck at it viciously without looking round, and went on fastening the chain, when the fly again seemed to tickle him, this time low down in the nape of his neck.

"Get out! Will you?" he cried: and he turned, sharply struck at the fly, and caught—

The end of the willow rod with its tuft of leaves.

"Oh!" he ejaculated, as the tug he gave at the wand was replied to by another at the end; and as he looked, he saw that it came from out of a dense mass of twiggy alder above his head, where a quantity of ivy grew.

"Scar," he cried, giving the wand a shake, "are you there?"

"Yes," came in a faint whisper that sounded very hollow and strange. "Didn't you hear me shout!"

"No."

"I was afraid to cry too loud, because it goes backward so, rumbling all along the passage. Whereabouts is it?"

"By the big birch-tree; just where we thought it couldn't be."

"Eh? Speak up."

"By the big birch-tree; just where we thought it couldn't be; and I can't speak louder, because Nat's over the other side, watching."

"Can he see you now?"

"No. But are you all right!"

"Yes."

"You're higher up than I thought. Stop till I push the boat closer, and I'll see if I can find any loose stones."

"Stop a minute," said Scarlett, in the same smothered voice, which sounded faint as a whisper. "Let me see if I can move any of them."

Fred waited, and, peering through the twigs, he could see that Nat was patiently waiting for him to come in sight again.

"Some of them seem loose," came from within; "but I can't get them out."

"Don't stop to try now," said Fred. "Let's come another time; we can't make any mistake, now. Oh!"

The cry was involuntary, for all at once a patch of ivy just above the level of the water seemed to be driven outward, and several stones about the size of his head fell with a splash down among the alder roots, followed by a heavy gush of water, which poured forth fiercely into the woody edge of the lake, and continued to pour as if a fresh lake was discharging its waters into the old one.

So near was the edge of the boat, that the water nearly rushed in; but though it was afterwards slightly drawn toward it, a snatch at a bough drew it back, and Fred stood gazing wonderingly at the rush which foamed in.

Then he looked across the lake, wondering whether Nat could hear and see. But he was too far distant to see more than a little ebullition which might have been caused by the movement of the oars and boat, for the water that poured in was discharged in quite a dense thicket of moisture-loving growth.

"I say, Scar," cried Fred, at last, alarmed by the silence, and after listening to the surging noise of the water for a few minutes.

"Yes."

"Are you all safe?"

"Yes, of course."

"What does all this water mean?"

"I was pushing against the wall high up, and slipped, and my knees struck against the bottom, driving out some of the stones."

"Then—Stop a minute; Nat's going away."

The lad held some of the twigs aside, and could see that the gardener was moving off, apparently tired of waiting, and, once he was out of sight, there was no occasion to be so particular about shouting, and a conversation was painfully carried on above the rushing noise of the water.

"I can't understand it, Scar," cried Fred. "There must be a stream running through that passage."

There was no reply; but the willow wand was withdrawn, and the next minute it appeared through the hole where the water was rushing.

"I say, Scar."

"Yes."

"Haven't you done some harm, and oughtn't we to let them know up at the house?"

"I don't know. I couldn't help it."

"I thought the passage was partly under the water," said Fred to himself, "and so it ran in; but it couldn't have been meant to be wet like that. I say, Scar," he cried aloud, "whereabouts is the bottom where your feet are?"

"Eh?"

"I say, where are your feet?"

"Where this stick is," came back more clearly now.

And it suddenly struck Fred that the water was not pouring out in quite so great a volume. But for the moment he could not see the stick for the foam. Directly after, though, he made out where it was being moved to and fro, exactly on a level with the surface of the lake.

"I'm coming back now," cried Scarlett; and his voice was plainly heard, after which Fred sat watching the water, rapidly draining away with less and less violence, till he heard a shout, answered it, and soon after Scarlett came along, forcing his way through the hazels till he reached the edge of the lake, and, by the help of one of the boughs of the birch, swung himself lightly into the boat, and began looking curiously at the opening, nearly hidden by the growth, through which the water still poured.

"No wonder we could not find the place," he said, as he at once placed the right construction on the presence of the water; "and, do you know, all that could not have come from the lake."

"Where could it have come from, then?"

"It must have drained in by degrees from the sides in wet weather, and the stones at the end dammed it up, so that it couldn't get away."

"Nonsense! The water would have pushed the stones down."

"It did, as soon as I pushed too. The wall was only just strong enough before."

"I tell you it must have run in from the lake."

"It couldn't, Fred. The bottom of the passage is higher; and when I came out the water was only just over my shoes. By to-morrow you see if it isn't drained right out. There, you see, it has pretty well stopped now."

Scarlett was quite right, for the water was now flowing out silently, and in very small volume.

"Well, we will not argue about it," said Fred. "Perhaps you're right, but I don't think you are. Anyhow, we've found the way in, and you couldn't have done it without me."

"No; nor you without me, Fred."

"No; and I say—Oh!"

"What's the matter?"

"Don't I want my breakfast."

"Yes; it must be nearly time. Come up and have some with me."

Fred shook his head.

"No," he said. "Your father did not seem to want me there last night."

"Nonsense!"

"Oh no, it was not. You come home with me. What's that?"

Scarlett listened, for there was a rustling and crashing noise, as of some animal forcing its way down through the hazel stubs to get to the edge of the lake to drink.

They waited breathlessly as the sounds grew nearer, and then stopped. The silence only lasted a minute, and then plainly enough came a familiar voice.

"I thought it was just here. Now, where have they got themselves to?"

Then the rustling was continued, and Nat came into sight.

The boys glanced sharply at the place where the water flowed, but there was nothing now but a feeble trickle, not likely to excite attention.

"Oh, there you are, Master Scarlett! Well, how many have you caught?"

"Not one, Nat," cried Fred, sharply.

"You don't put your lines in the right places, lads. Where are they now?"

"Not going to tell you," replied Fred, sharply. "There, hear that? Didn't some one call?"

"No," cried Nat; "I didn't hear nobody. Show me where your lines are laid. Aren't put any down here, have you?"

"No; it wouldn't be any use."

"I should think not. Why, if you hooked an eel, he'd run in and out among the dead wood and roots till your lines would be all tangled together, and you'd lose them."

"Will you come and show us a good place, then, Nat?" said Fred, for Scarlett was a little puzzled as to what was going on.

"Yes; I'll show you," said the gardener, who, like most of his class, was as much interested in the chance of a little fishing as the boys themselves. So, swinging himself into the boat, he took the oars, and, to the great relief of the two lads, rowed right away towards where a little rivulet entered the lake.

"Glad I saw what you were both going to do," continued Nat. "Only waste of time muddling in there among the wood. You might catch a few perch or an old carp, but that would be about all."

Ten minutes later he ceased rowing in front of the mouth of the rivulet.

"There," he said; "set your lines about here, and you'll catch as many as you want, and—breakfast-time. Let's get ashore."



CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE COLONEL'S MESSAGE.

No farther visit was paid to the passage that day; but the next, in the afternoon, the boys made their way down toward the lake, and met Nat, who approached them with rather a mysterious look on his face.

"What's the matter?" asked Scarlett.

"Ah, that's what I want to know, sir. You didn't hear it, of course, because you were out in the boat."

"Hear what?"

"Oh, I don't know, sir," said the gardener, mysteriously. "I've just come from the kitchen, where the servants was talking about it."

"About what?"

"It, sir, it; I don't know what it is. I told 'em it was howls, but I don't think it was. Still, if you tell maid-servants as there's something wrong in the house, they'll either go out of the house or out of their skins."

"Do you know what you are talking about, Nat?"

"Yes, sir. Course I do."

"Well, then, just be a little plain, and don't go smothering your words up as if they were seeds that you'd put in to come up in a month. Now, then, what is it?"

"You needn't be quite so chuff with a man, Master Scarlett—a man as is trying to do his duty."

"Well, go on, then."

"I will, sir. I went into the kitchen, and the women was all talking about it. Her ladyship's maid was the one who heard it, yes'day morning, before breakfast."

"Heard what?"

"Groans, sir, and cries."

"Where?"

"That's what they can't make out. All she could say was that it sounded close to the best bedroom, and it was as if somebody was crying for help in a weak voice, and then shouting, 'Red—red!' which they think means blood."

"Stuff and rubbish, Nat!" cried Fred, hastily.

"That's what I said to them, sir."

"Then go and tell them so again," cried Fred. "Come along, Scar; I want a run."

He hurried his companion away, and they went off down to the lake, leaving Nat staring after them before going slowly away toward the garden, muttering to himself—

"It's all very well," he said; "but it couldn't be howls."

"What made you hurry away so?" cried Scarlett, as they walked on, and he came to a stop. "Let's go back and speak to my father. Something may be wrong. How do we know? Nat—"

Fred burst out laughing.

"Why, don't you see?"

"No: what do you mean?"

"Didn't you tell me you were afraid to shout yesterday because your voice went echoing along the passage?"

"Yes."

"Well, what did you call?"

"Fred—Fred!"

"Well, wouldn't that sound to any one who heard it like, 'Red—red'?"

"Of course," cried Scarlett, laughing. "I never thought of that."

"Now, then, which way shall we go? Straight to the mouth where the water ran, or to the hole in the wood?"

"To the hole;" and, after taking the trouble to make quite a circuit, so as to be sure of avoiding observation, they entered the little wood, made their way to the prostrate oak, and found that the bottom of the hole was dry.

"There!" cried Scarlett, "I was right."

They dropped down, and found that by the time they had reached the end of the portion illumined by the light which came down the hole, faint rays were there to meet them from the other end, the light striking in strongly from the bottom of the walled-up entrance, and showing that the floor which they had to follow was damp, but every drop of water had drained away.

On reaching the end, it was quite light; and a little examination proved that other stones at the bottom were sufficiently loose to be easily pushed out, Fred sending out a couple, which went down into deep water at once.

"I wouldn't have done that," said Scarlett. "It's like opening a way for any one right into our house."

"But any one will not know the way," replied Fred, as he went down on hands and knees, and thrust out his head and shoulders. "Easy enough to get out now," he said, as he thrust the bushes aside, "only we should want the boat. Water's quite deep here. Stop a moment!" he cried excitedly, as he twisted himself round and looked up before drawing his head back. "Why, Scar, we could climb up or down there as easily as could be."

"Could we?"

Scarlett crept partly out in turn, and looked up for a minute or two.

"Yes," he said, as he returned, "that would be easy enough."

"Then, do you know what we have to do next?"

"No."

"Go and stop up the big hole in the wood."

Scarlett thought for a moment, and then agreed, following his companion to the opening, and climbing out in turn.

"How shall we do it?" he said.

"The rougher the better," cried Fred, who was by far the more practical of the two. "Let's get great dead branches, and lay them over anyhow, leaving a hole like a chimney, so as to give light. Come along; I'll show you. The more natural the better, in case any one should come here."

"Which is not likely," replied Scarlett.

"I don't know; Nat might. Work away."

They did work away, and with good effect. They had no difficulty in getting plenty of rough pieces, which they laid across, first like the rafters over a shed, and then piled others upon them in the most careless-looking fashion, after which some long strands of ivy and bramble were dragged across, to act the double purpose of binding all together and looking natural.

"But they seem as if they had been just placed there," said Scarlett, looking rather dissatisfied with their work.

"Of course they do to-day; but before a week has gone by, they'll have all their leaves turned up to the light, and go on growing fast. Now, then, who could tell that there was a way down there?"

Scarlett was fain to confess that the concealment would be perfect as soon as the leaves were right, and a shower of rain had removed their tracks.

"And we shall not want to come here at all now, only get in by the proper way. I wish that hole was not broken through."

"We should not have found it without."

"Oh yes, we should," said Fred; "because some day we should have bought candles, and waded down to the mouth."

"Well," said Scarlett, as they strolled away at last, "what's the good of it all, now we have found it out?"

"It doesn't seem quite so much now we have found everything; but still it is interesting, and it will do to hide in when we want to get away from everybody."

"But we never do."

"No," said Fred. "But never mind; there's no knowing of what use it may be, and it's our secret, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, it's our secret, Fred."

"And how we could scare the servants now, by hiding and groaning."

"Till my father examined and found it all out. I shouldn't like to look him in the face when he did."

"No," said Fred; "it wouldn't be nice. I say, what stupids we should look!"

"Did you get up so early on purpose to come over here yesterday?" said Scarlett, suddenly.

"No. I was woke up by hearing Captain Miles go."

"Captain Miles? Who is he?"

"I don't know; an old fellow-officer of my father, I think. I say, Scarlett, I'm to be a soldier."

Scarlett laughed, and his companion felt nettled.

"Well," he said, "I shall grow older and stronger some day."

"Why, you couldn't pull a sword right out of its sheath," said Scarlett.

"Couldn't I? Let's go into the house and try."

"Come along, then," cried Scarlett; and the two lads ran right into the Hall, where Fred seized an old weapon from one of the suits of armour, and proved his ability by drawing it from the sheath, Scarlett following his example.

"Now, then!" cried Fred; "en garde!"

Nothing loth, Scarlett crossed swords with him, just as his father came thoughtfully out of the library, and stopped to watch them.

"I say, this old sword is heavy though," said Fred, as the point of the long blade seemed attracted toward the ground.

"It's because you haven't muscle enough," replied Scarlett, as the blades grated together. "Wonder whether this one ever cut off a man's head?"

"Is this an omen?" said Sir Godfrey to himself. "Friend against friend, perhaps brother against brother, all through our unhappy land. Well, Heaven's will be done! My duty is to my king."

Meanwhile, the two boys were laughingly making a few cuts and guards with the clumsy old weapons; but directly after they started apart in confusion, as Sir Godfrey said aloud—

"Boys, do you remember the words of Scripture!"

Neither answered; but, with the points of the swords resting on the old oak floor, they stared at him abashed.

"'They that take the sword shall perish with the sword.'"

There was silence in the grand old hall for a brief space, as the two boys stood there in the centre, with the bright lights from the stained-glass windows showering down upon them, and the portraits of Scarlett's warlike ancestors seeming to be watching intently all that was taking place.

Then Sir Godfrey moved slowly across the hall, paused and looked back, and then said gently—

"Put the weapons away, my lads. Warfare is too terrible to be even mimicked in sport."

He sighed and passed through the farther door, leaving the boys gazing at each other in silence.

"How serious he is!" said Scarlett, at last. "Let's put them away. I thought he was going to scold us for taking them down."

"Yes, I thought that," said Fred. "But I should like to be a soldier, all the same, only without any war. Ugh! only fancy giving a man a chop with a thing like that," he added, as he replaced the weapon. "Here, I'm off home," he cried, as he ran to the door.

"Good-bye, old soldier without any war. I say, Fred."

"Well?"

"That will be a capital place for you to hide in when you are a soldier, and the war comes."

"That's right," said Fred, good-humouredly; "laugh away. I dare say I am a coward, but I don't believe everybody is brave. Coming over to-night?"

"Perhaps," was the reply; and Fred went off homeward at a trot, thinking of how delightful it would be to grow into a man, and carry a sword and ride about on a horse like Captain Miles.

He thought a good deal about Captain Miles as he went home, and wondered whether he had gone to Plymouth.

"Because he might have been going to Tavistock or Barnstaple."

The recollection of the sturdy, keen-eyed soldier seemed to oust every other thought from the boy's brain, and he saw in imagination the distant figure as it mounted the rising ground, and, passing over, disappeared.

"I wonder what he came for?" thought Fred. "It didn't seem like the visit of a friend, and it could not be about business, because father never does any business now; but they were so serious, and my mother looked so troubled."

Fred gave his ear a rub, as if he were vexed.

"I suppose it was thinking so much about that rabbit-hole of a place up at the Hall," he muttered. "I never thought any more about mother looking so serious, and having tears in her eyes. I'll ask her what's the matter."

He walked slowly on till he came in sight of the western road, which looked like a narrow path crossing the distant hill.

"Why, there's somebody coming," he cried, as he sheltered his eyes to make out what was evidently a mounted man moving slowly along the road. "He's coming this way," said Fred, musingly. "I wonder who it is?"

Not much of a matter for consideration, in modern days; but to the dwellers in that retired part of Coombeland, far away from a town, the coming of a strange horseman was an event, and, regardless of where he put his feet, Fred went on trying to keep the mounted man in view, as he disappeared at times in the hollows, and then came into sight again, evidently moving at a foot's pace.

"It must be Captain Miles coming back," cried Fred, as the figure disappeared from view in consequence of the lad having to descend into a hollow before rising the opposite hill.

"That old place will be no end of a game when we have cleared it out," mused the boy, as he went slowly down the hill. "It will be a lot of trouble though, and we shall have to sweep and clear away the dust and cobwebs too. I wish we could set Samson and Nat to work, only we can't do that, because, if we did, it wouldn't be a secret place; and, besides, they would do nothing but quarrel, and get no work done. Wonder whether brothers always do quarrel. Why, they're worse than Scar and I are, though we do have a pretty good row sometimes."

Ten minutes later he was mounting the hill, and, as he reached the top, he hastened his pace, so as to get within view of the coming horseman, who was for the moment shut out from view by a patch of woodland; but the regular beat of the horse's hoofs came plainly enough.

"Sounds in the distance just like my pony's trot," said Fred, thoughtfully; and directly after he burst out with a loud, "Oh!" full of vexation in its tone. "Why, it's only old Samson, after all," he cried. "Think of me taking him for Captain Miles!"

He set off at a sharp run across the moorland, so as to cut off a great piece of the road, and reach a point by which the Manor gardener must pass.

Samson was not long in recognising him, and, checking the speed of the stout cob he rode, the mutual effort brought the two together at the sought-for spot.

"Here you, Samson, who told you to exercise my pony?"

"Exercise, Master Fred? You look at him."

"Look at him? I am looking at him. Poor old fellow! he's all in a lather."

"Yes; he hasn't had such a gallop for months."

"How dare you, then! Jump off directly, and walk him home."

"Shan't!" was the laconic refusal, accompanied by a grin.

"What!" cried Fred, doubling his fists threateningly.

"Shan't come off, sir. There!"

"Oh, won't you!" cried Fred, seizing Samson by the leg, and proceeding as if to tilt him over.

"You leave your father's special messenger alone, Master Fred, or you'll get into trouble."

"Did my father tell you to take the pony?"

"Course he did, and to take what he called a despatch."

"Despatch?"

"Yes. To Barnstaple."

"What for?"

"How should I know? It was a big letter, all tied round with ribbon and sealed up, and I've got another like it in here."

As he spoke in a voice full of importance, he tapped a leathern wallet slung over his right shoulder.

"Why, Samson, who did you take it to?"

"To that gen'leman who was here the other night."

"Captain Miles?"

"Yes. At Barnstaple, and some more gen'lemen was with him when I got there, and he read the letter, and they read the letter, and then they said they'd write another, and I was to go down and have some bread and cheese and cider, and I did—a lot."

"I wonder what it means?" said Fred, as he walked on beside the pony, holding by its thick mane, for it was uphill.

"I think I know, Master Fred."

"You do? What is it?"

"Well, sir, it's something to do with the king and the Parliament. They were talking about it at the Red Hind."

"King and the Parliament?"

"Yes, Master Fred; and there were some there as said we should most likely have to fight for our rights."

"But we haven't got any rights to fight for."

"Oh yes, we have, Master Fred," said Samson, importantly. "A man there told me all about it."

"What did he say?"

"Well, sir, I don't quite understand, but they're trying to take our rights away."

"Who are?"

"Well, that's what I didn't get quite clear, you see, sir. But it's some'at like this. Every man has—I don't quite remember what it was he said there, but I do recollect he said that if things were not altered, we should have to fight."

Fred looked at him wonderingly.

"I should have got it all quite pat, you see, only just as I was getting into the marrow of it and understanding it all, that captain sent for me, and give me the big letter I've got in here. And now I must hurry on." For the top of the hill was reached, and the pony broke into a sharp trot without urging.

But Fred kept hold of the mane, and ran easily by his side, coming soon after in sight of Colonel Forrester, standing at the garden gate, evidently waiting for his messenger's return.

As soon as he saw them descending the slope, he walked quickly forward to meet them, holding out his hand for the despatch, and looking so anxious and severe that his son forbore to speak.

"Take the cob round to the stables, and treat him well," said the colonel, sharply, as he tore open the missive and began to read.

Fred felt eagerness itself to know its contents, and he was about to stop, examining the missive the while with eager eyes; but, recollecting himself, he went off at a trot after Samson, who had dismounted, and was leading the pony.

"Hope it's good news, Master Fred."

"I dare say it is. I don't know."

"The captain said I was a gardener, wasn't I; and I told him the truth, and said I was."

"Why, of course, stupid."

"Ah, you don't understand, Master Fred. It isn't every day that a gardener has to carry despatches. And then he said, as he give me the answer, 'Well, you say you are a gardener, don't let the grass grow under your feet.' I didn't, Master Fred. Ask Dodder."

"No need to ask him, poor old fellow," said Fred, patting his favourite's neck.

"Fred!" came from the road.

"Yes, father," cried the boy, and he ran back.

"I thought you were by me, my boy," said the colonel, gravely, as he laid one hand upon his son's shoulder, and held the despatch in the other, gazing thoughtfully before him toward the old house they were approaching.

"I hope you have not had bad news, father," hazarded Fred.

"No, on the whole, good. It must come—it must come."

Fred looked at him inquiringly.

"What are you, Fred—sixteen, isn't it?"

"Yes, father."

"Ah, if you had been six and twenty, how useful to me you could have been!"

Fred flushed.

"I could be useful to you now, father, if you would let me be," he said in an injured tone. "I could have ridden over to Barnstaple with your letter quicker than Samson did, and I shouldn't have tired Dodder so much."

"Yes, I thought of that, Fred, but you are only a boy, and you were at play."

There was a silence for a few moments, and then Fred spoke.

"Is it wrong for a boy to play, father?"

"Heaven forbid. No; of course not. Play goes with youth, and it gives boys energy, strength, and decision. Yes, Fred, play while you can. Manfully and well. But play."

Fred looked up at his father in a puzzled way, as he stopped short, and began beating his side with the despatch he had received. There was a dreamy look in his eyes, which were fixed on vacancy, as he muttered—

"Yes; I must be right. I have hesitated long, but it is a duty. But what does it mean—friendships broken; the land in chaos; brother against brother; perhaps father against son. No, no," he added, with a shudder, as he turned sharply on his boy. "Fred, my lad," he tried, "if trouble comes upon our land, and I have to take side with those who fight—"

He stopped short.

"Who fight, father? You are not going to fight."

"I don't know yet, my boy; but if I do, it will be for those I believe to be in the right. What I believe to be right, you, too, must believe in, and follow."

"Of course, father," said the boy, quietly.

"No matter what is said against me, or how you may be influenced. I know about these matters better than you do, and I shall ask you to trust to me."

Fred smiled, as if his father's words amused him, for it seemed absurd that he should have any opinion against his own father.

"Why, of course, I shall do as you tell me," he said, taking hold of his father's arm, and they walked together into the house, where Mistress Forrester, looking pale and large-eyed, was awaiting her husband's return.

She did not speak, but looked up in his eyes with so eager and inquiring an air that he bent down and kissed her forehead.

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, husband!"

"It cannot be avoided. My duty is with the people. That duty I must do."

"But home—me—Fred?"

"You will be safe here," he said. "It is not likely that the tide of trouble will flow this way."

"But Fred," she whispered.

"Fred. Ah, yes, Fred," said the colonel, thoughtfully.

"Oh no, no, no," cried Mistress Forrester, in agony, as she saw her husband's hesitating way, and suspected the truth. "No, no, husband, he is too young."

"He will grow older," said the colonel, with quiet firmness. "Wife, when the country calls for the help of her son, he must give it freely. If your boy is needed in his country's service, he will have to go."

Fred heard these words, and went slowly and thoughtfully away— thoughtfully, for his head was in a whirl—the coming of his father's military friend—his father's old life as a soldier—and these hints about civil war.

"I don't think I should mind," he said to himself, "not if Scar went too. He and I could get on so well together. Of course we should be too young for regular soldiers, but we should soon grow older."

Then he began to recall different things of which he had heard and read, about youths going off to the war in olden times to be esquires, and after deeds of valour to become belted knights who had won their spurs.

Fred's was not a romantic nature, for that night, quite late, after he had gone up to bed, he sat at his window looking out at the starlit sky. And as he gazed all the thoughts of the evening came back to make him burst into a derisive laugh.

"It's all nonsense," he said; "knights and squires never did half the things they say. And if we had a war, and I had to go, I'm afraid it would be all rough and different to life here at home. But if Scar went too, I should not mind. They want all the men at such a time as this. Samson would have to go, and Nat, and no end of the farm lads about."

Fred rose from his seat, and closed the window softly, for fear that he should be heard, and at last lay down, but not to sleep, for his young brain was excited, and a feeling of awe came over him as he began thinking of her who was sleeping only a few yards away.

"If father goes and takes me with him, and there is a terrible war, what will my mother say?"



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE.

"Godfrey!"

"Hush, my darling; think of the children. Be firm. Be firm."

"But it is too horrible."

"Is this my dear wife speaking?" said Sir Godfrey, gravely, as he took his dame's hand.

"Yes," said Lady Markham, excitedly. "Would you have me sit silent when such a demand is made?"

Sir Godfrey's brow was knit, and his nether lip quivered as he heard his wife's words, while Lil, who seemed alarmed, crept to her brother's side and held his hand.

"The demand is just, wife," said Sir Godfrey, at last. "I am a soldier, sworn to help my king."

"You were a soldier once, love," interposed Lady Markham.

"I am a soldier, wife. Still a soldier, though during these peaceful years I have been allowed to live peacefully here at home. The time has now come when my master needs the help of all his loyal servants. He calls me to his help, and do you think I am going to play the coward and knave, and hide here in idleness while every rogue is striking at the crown? Come: be a woman. Do your duty."

"My duty is to those children, Godfrey," said Lady Markham, piteously.

"And to your husband. You, as a brave, true woman, now that the perilous time has come when ruin and destruction threatens the kingdom, you, I say, should be the first to buckle on your husband's sword."

"Father!" cried Scarlett, "are you going away?"

"Yes, boy; I am summoned to Exeter. From there, perhaps to Bristol."

"And when do you come back?"

Sir Godfrey was silent for a few moments, and then said calmly—

"Heaven knows!"

"Godfrey!" cried Lady Markham, and she threw herself sobbing on her knees.

"Oh, father, father!" cried Lil, running to him and catching his hand, but only to be snatched up to his breast and kissed passionately; "don't, pray don't go away. You'll break poor mother's heart."

"Hush, child!" said Sir Godfrey, sternly. "Do you think I wish to leave all who are dear to me for the risks of war? Remember there is such a thing as duty."

"Yes, father," sobbed Lil, nestling to his breast.

"Scar, my boy, what have you to say? You have heard the king's throne is in danger, and he calls upon his loyal west-country gentlemen to come to his help. Are we loyal or are we not?"

"Loyal, father, of course."

"And you say, then?"

"That you must go, father. Yes, you must go."

"Right! my brave boy, right!" cried Sir Godfrey, seizing the lad's hand. "I must go—at once. And you, while I am gone, will be your mother's help and support—your sister's protector."

Scarlett did not speak, but looked his father firmly in the face.

"I shall leave everything in your hands, and from this day forward you must cease to be a boy, and act as a calm and thoughtful man. I make you my steward and representative, Scarlett. Do your best, and by your quiet, consistent conduct, make yourself obeyed. You understand?"

"I hear what you say, father."

"Well, sir, why do you speak in that hesitating way?"

"Because, father, I shall not be here."

"Scarlett!" cried Sir Godfrey, in a tone full of displeasure.

"Don't be angry with me, father," cried the lad. "You are going away— because the king wants the help of every loyal heart. Well, father, you will take me too."

"Take—you? Scar! No, no; you are too young."

"I expected to hear you say that, but I shall soon be older; and, though I am only a boy, I could be useful to you in a hundred ways. I suppose I am too young to fight."

"Yes, yes; of course."

"Well, others could do the fighting. Couldn't you make me something— your esquire?"

"Knights do not have esquires now, my boy," said Sir Godfrey, with a smile; "but—"

He stopped short, while his son gazed at him eagerly, waiting for the end of his speech.

"Yes, father—but—?" said Scarlett, after waiting some time.

"I was only thinking, my son, as to which was my duty—to bid you watch over your mother and sister here, or to devote you to the service of your king."

"Devote me to the service of my king, father," cried Scarlett, proudly.

"No, no, my boy," cried Lady Markham. "Don't try to stop me, mother," said Scarlett. "You know I should have to stay here in peace to take care of you who are not in danger; but ought you not rather wish to have me trying to watch over him who will be in the war?"

Lady Markham bowed her head. She could not trust herself to speak, for her son's words had set his going in a new light. But she still hesitated, clinging first to father, then to son, and ending by exclaiming—

"Heaven's will be done! I can say no more."

"No, mother. Let me go, and I will do all I can to protect my father."

She gazed piteously at him through her tears, and then cast herself sobbing upon his breast, while Sir Godfrey gravely set his daughter by her mother's side, and laid his hand upon her head.

"Scarlett is right, dearest. He can do more good by embracing his father's profession at once. He will learn to be a soldier, and— perhaps—he may be able to protect me. Who can tell!"

Lady Markham took and kissed her husband's hand, and then once more embraced her son, ending by taking her daughter to her heart, and weeping over her silently, while Sir Godfrey paced the room.

"Yes, my boy?" he said suddenly, as he caught his son's eye.

"When shall you start, father?"

"To-morrow at the latest. Quite early in the morning, if we can get away."

"So soon?"

"Yes. Have you begun to repent already?"

"Oh no, father; but I thought that I should like to go over to the Manor to say good-bye."

Sir Godfrey held up his hand.

"Impossible, my boy. By the same despatch I learned that Colonel Forrester—unhappy man!—has cast in his lot with the Roundheads. I am told, too, that he has been harbouring one of the enemy's generals, who has been about the country organising revolt against his majesty, under the name of Captain Miles. Scarlett, my boy, the Forresters are the enemies of the king, and therefore ours."

"Poor Fred!" said Scarlett, half aloud.

"Ay, poor Fred!" said Sir Godfrey. "Do you think it possible that you could save him from this fate by bringing him over to us? He is your friend, Scarlett?"

"Yes, father, but—"

"Yes, my boy, you are right. It would be a cowardly deed to try and separate father and son. Would it were otherwise, for I like the boy."

"Like him, father? It seems horrible; just as if one was losing a brother, and could not stretch out a hand. And you would not like me to say good-bye to Fred, father?"

"You cannot now, my boy; neither while he is against us can I take Colonel Forrester's hand again."

There was a painful pause here, broken by Lady Markham's sobs; and then, with a sudden display of soldierly firmness, Sir Godfrey bent down and kissed his wife.

"Come, my darling," he said, "remember your duty as the wife and mother of two soldiers suddenly called away."

"I'll try," said Lady Markham, rising sadly.

"And succeed," replied Sir Godfrey, gently. "Come, Scarlett, my boy. Time flies. You will choose which horse you like, and prepare the very few necessaries that you can carry. We shall get our equipment at Exeter, so work hard, as if you momentarily expected to hear the trumpet call, 'To horse.' Why, it stirs my blood again, after all these years of idleness. That's better, my darling. Women should not weep when those they love are about to leave on duty, but give them smiles."

"Smiles, Godfrey!" said Lady Markham, sadly.

"Yes, smiles. Every soldier who goes to fight does not get hard blows or wounds. Many escape everything, and come back covered with glory and full of the sense of duty done. There, Scarlett, my boy, away with you and pack your valise. Recollect you are a soldier now."

Scarlett dashed at his mother, kissed her, and then, bewildered by excitement, he hurried out to go to the stable and select the horse he might need to carry him in many a perilous time; but before he reached the long range of buildings where Sir Godfrey's horses led their peaceful life, he was attacked by Nat.

"Here, Master Scar," he cried excitedly, catching the lad by the sleeve, "is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"That the war's coming nigher our way, and they've sent for the master to fight?"

"Yes, Nat; true enough," said the lad, proudly drawing himself up. "Sir Godfrey and I are going off to the wars to-morrow morning."

"You, Master Scar? You?"

"Yes, Nat; to-morrow."

"Why, dear heart alive, Master Scar, lad," cried Nat, laying his hand affectionately on the boy's shoulder, "it seems only t'other day as you used to come and coax me to leave my mowing and go on hands and knees to make a horse for you to ride, and now you're talking about going to the war."

"Yes, Nat. Time goes."

"But, dear lad," cried the gardener, letting his hand slide down to Scarlett's biceps, "why, you haven't got the muscle in your arm to handle a scythe, let alone a sword to mow down men."

"I can't help that, Nat," cried Scarlett, angrily. "Let go. There'll be muscle enough to thrash you some day."

"I hope so, dear lad. But try and thrash brother Samson first. I should like to see you do that."

"Don't talk nonsense. And come along. I want to look at the horses."

"But are you really going, Master Scar?"

"I—am—really—going, Nat, and I want to settle which horse I shall ride. So please say no more about it."

Nat took off his hat and scratched his head, his face wrinkling up all over as he followed his young master to the stables, just like one of his own pippins which had been lying in the apple loft all through the winter.

Then, as they reached the door, and Scarlett entered, Nat put on his cap, gave his knee a slap, and with one set of wrinkles disappearing from his countenance to make room for another, like a human dissolving view, he burst out into a low chuckle.

"That'll knock the wind out of old Samson's sails! A miserable, cowardly, fat-headed old puddick. He wouldn't have the courage to do that."

"Nat!"

"Coming, Master Scar;" and Nat hurried into the stables to find his young master standing beside the light cob his father often rode. "Hullo, Master Scar, sir, thinking about having Moorcock?"

"Yes, Nat. My father is sure not to take him for his charger, and he would suit me exactly."

"Well, yes, sir, I dare say he would. But why not have Black Adder?"

"Because I thought my father would like him."

"Nay, sir; master'll choose Thunder, as sure as can be, and—Hush! Here he is."

"Well, my boy, have you made your selection?" said Sir Godfrey, as he entered the stables, where eight horses raised their heads to look round and utter a low whinny.

"Yes, father; I have been hesitating between Moorcock and Black Adder, but I thought you would like the black."

"No, my boy, I have made up my mind to have Thunder."

"I think I'll take Moorcock all the same," said Scarlett, thoughtfully.

"He will suit you better now. Two years hence, I should have said take Black Adder."

"Why not take 'em both, Master Scarlett?" said Nat, respectfully. "Black Adder knows me by heart, and I could ride him and take care of him when you didn't want him, or he'd do for master if Thunder was out o' sorts."

"Why, Nat, my good fellow," said Sir Godfrey, smiling, "you will be here at the Hall, helping to protect her ladyship and cutting cabbages."

"No, I shan't, Sir Godfrey," replied the gardener, with a stubborn look in his bluff English face. "I shan't be here, but along o' you and Master Scarlett, and 'stead of cutting cabbages, I shall be cutting off heads."

"Nonsense, man!" said Sir Godfrey, but with far less conviction in his tone.

"Beg your pardon, sir, but I don't see no nonsense in it. I've sharpened scythes till they cut like razors, and if you don't believe it, look at our lawn. Think, then, if I take my best rubber with me, I can't sharpen a sword?"

"Oh, nobody doubts that, my man; but—"

"Why, look here, Sir Godfrey, I'll keep yours and Master Scar's swords with such an edge on 'em as shall frighten your enemies into fits. You'll let me go, won't you, dear master? I can't stay behind." Sir Godfrey shook his head. "Master Scarlett, sir, put in a word for me. Don't go and leave me behind. I'll be that faithful and true as never was."

"Nobody doubts that, my man."

"Then let me go, Sir Godfrey. Why, see how useful I can be. I can wash for you, and cook for you—anything, and cut a few armfuls of heath of a night to make your beds. And, look here, gen'lemen, soldiers on the march never gets a bit o' vegetable; but if there's any within a dozen miles of where you are, you shall always have it. So there!"

"You do not know the hardships of a soldier's life, my good fellow," said Sir Godfrey, as he patted the neck of the noble-looking, dark-dappled grey in one of the stalls. Nat laughed.

"Well, master," he said, "if you gen'lemen as never gets yourselves wet can bear 'em, I should think I can. Let me go, sir, please." Sir Godfrey hesitated.

"Well, my lad," he said, "I must warn you of the risks of what you ask. We both go with our lives and liberties in our hands."

"All right, sir; and I'll take my life and liberty in my hand, though I don't zackly know what you mean."

"I mean that any day you may be cut down or shot."

"Oh, that, Sir Godfrey! Well, so's our flowers and fruits every day. That's their chance, I suppose, and I'll take mine same as you take yours. Maybe I might help to keep off a bit o' danger from both on you, and I don't suppose Master Scarlett would let any man give me a chop, if he could stop it."

Sir Godfrey gave his horse a final pat on his fine arching neck, and walked back out of the stall, to stand gazing full at his man, who slipped off his hat, and drew himself up awkwardly in soldierly fashion. Then, without a word, and to Nat's dismay, he turned to his son.

"Yes," he said; "take Moorcock, my boy, and the stoutest saddle and bridle you can find."

Then he walked straight out of the stables, leaving Nat gazing after him in dismay.

"And me with such arms, Master Scar!" he cried, in a protesting tone. "Look here, sir."

He stripped off his jerkin and rolled his shirt up over his knotted limbs, right to the shoulder, displaying thew and sinew of which a gladiator might have been proud.

"Well, Master Scar, sir, as I'm not to go, I wish I could chop off them two arms, and give 'em to you, for you'd find 'em very useful when you came to fight."

Just then the stable door was darkened by the figure of Sir Godfrey, who looked in, and said sharply—

"Scarlett, my boy, I have been thinking that over. It would be wise to take Black Adder too, in case one of our steeds breaks down."

Nat's ears gave a visible twitch, and seemed to cock towards the speaker, as he continued—

"I'll leave it in your hands to settle about Nat. You can take him if you wish."

He walked away, and in an instant Nat was squatting down, and going through what is known to boys as the cobbler's hornpipe for a few moments, a triumphal terpsichorean performance, which he ended directly, and ran to the wall, ducked down head and hands, till he planted them on the stone floor, and, throwing up his heels, stood upon his head, and tapped the wall with the backs of his boots.

"Nat, come down," cried Scarlett, laughing. "Why, what does that mean?"

"Mean, sir? Why, I feel as if I could jump out o' my skin."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a-going along o' you, and to show my brother Samson as we've got some stuff in our family."

"But I didn't say that you were to go."

"No, Master Scar; but you're going to, aren't you?"

Scarlett was silent.

"Oh, Master Scar, sir, don't you run back. Do, do pray take me. Ah, I see a twinkle at the corner of your mouth. You're only teasing a fellow. I may go, sir?"

"Yes, Nat; and I'm very, very glad."

Nat startled the horses by throwing his cap to the roof of the stable, and made them tug at their halters, but it did not seem to matter to him, for he caught up a pitchfork, shouldered it, and began to march up and down, shouting rather than singing a snatch of a song he had heard somewhere in the neighbourhood, where the war fever had been catching more men than they knew—

"'So it's up with the sword that will fight for the crown, And down with the—down with the—down with the—'

"I say, Master Scar, what comes next?"

"I don't know at all. But I'll tell you what must come next."

"Yes sir."

"Pack up and be ready for the march to-morrow, and we've got to say good-bye."

"Yes, Master Scar, and glad I'll be when it's over, for there'll be some wet eyes in the Hall, both parlour and kitchen, before we set away."

Nat was right. There were tears, many and bitter, for master and man that night; and next morning when, after tying a scarf round her son's shoulder, Lady Markham clung to him passionately, till, with a last hasty kiss to his sister, a final embrace to his mother, Scarlett set spurs to his sturdy horse, and galloped off across the park to where Nat was waiting, and there he drew rein to allow his father to come up.

Sir Godfrey rode fast till he was within about twenty yards, when he signed to them to ride on, and the trio went forward slowly till they were at the top of the slope, where they instinctively turned to take a farewell look at the old Hall and the handkerchiefs waving adieu.

"So peaceful and happy," said Scarlett to himself; and then, with a curious sensation as of a film being drawn over his eyes, he turned away, pressed his horse's sides, and when he strained round in the saddle again to look back, it was to see the tops of trees growing about his home, and the moorland spreading away to the sea. Nothing more.

"Hah! I'm glad that's over, Master Scar," said Nat, with a sigh of relief as they went gently along the lane which opened upon the high-road lying to west and east, and there crossed it and led on towards the Manor.

They were within twenty yards of the cross-roads, when Nat looked cautiously back, to see if his master was within hearing, and seeing that he was not, he chuckled and said softly—

"Master Scar, sir."

"Yes," said Scarlett, starting from a reverie full of recollections about the times he and Fred had traversed that road on very different missions to the present.

"I was just thinking, sir, that I'd give every penny I've saved up again I get married, which may happen some day, to see our Samson come shuffling up yonder lane. How he would stare, and how mad he would be, and—"

"Hush, Nat. Look!"

The ex-gardener sat up, round-eyed and as if turned into stone, while the clatter of horse's hoofs behind told that Sir Godfrey had set spurs to his horse, and was riding on to join them, which he did, drawing rein as they reached the cross-roads, an act duly imitated by the group of three horsemen coming up the lane from the opposite direction, and there at the intersection of the great main western road, the two little parties sat gazing at each other, accident having arranged that master, son, and servant from Hall and Manor should be exactly opposite to each other, gazing in each other's eyes.

For full a minute no one spoke, and then Thunder, Sir Godfrey's charger, threw up his noble head and whinnied loudly what might have been taken as a defiance.

"Now, Master Scar," whispered Nat, "isn't the master going to give the word. It's war now, and we can soon do them."

"Silence!" cried Sir Godfrey, sternly; and then, turning to Colonel Forrester, he raised his plumed Cavalier hat, the colonel responding by lifting the steel morion he wore.

Then it was as if Sir Godfrey's command had had its effect upon all present, for they gazed straight at each other, Nat and Samson with the look of a couple of angry dogs waiting to be let loose and fight; the two lads in a puzzled manner, as if ready to shake hands, and held back by some invisible chain; and their fathers with a haughty look of anger and disdain.

Sir Godfrey was the first to speak in a stern tone of voice, as he looked straight in Colonel Forrester's eyes.

"May I ask, sir," he said, "in which direction you are going?"

"No, sir," was the calm reply. "You have no right to make such a demand."

"Then I will address you in a more friendly spirit, Colonel Forrester. The road here to the east leads towards the king's followers—the gentry of the west who are gathering together beneath his banner to put an end to the disorder and anarchy now running riot through the land. You will, I presume, as a loyal gentleman, join us, and we can ride together."

"Is this banter or earnest, Sir Godfrey?" replied the colonel, as the two boys sat with their ears tingling.

"Earnest, Colonel Forrester. What other course could I expect an officer to take?"

"Then, if it be in earnest, sir—no; I ride not with you to help to bolster up a tyranny which makes every true man in England blush for his country."

"Colonel Forrester!"

"Sir Godfrey Markham!"

There was a pause, during which the two old friends gazed defiantly at each other, and then Colonel Forrester continued—

"No, sir; I ride to the west, to join those whom you call the inciters to riot, anarchy, and confusion; but whom we, as true, honest Englishmen, think of as those who are fighting to free our land and to rescue it from the degradation to which it has been brought. Let me entreat you, sir, as a gentleman, to think twice before you take the road to the east, for the way is open still to the west. Ride with us, Sir Godfrey. So old and gallant a soldier would be most welcome to our ranks."

"And a traitor to the king, whose commission I hold, and whose uniform I shall once again wear."

"Traitor!" said Colonel Forrester, starting, and his hand darted to the hilt of his sword; but he drew it back with a hasty "Pish!"

"Yes, sir, traitor, as you seem disposed to prove; but I warn you in time. The king will prove the master over the wretched band of anarchists who have risen against him."

"Enough!" said Colonel Forrester. "That has to be proved."

"Proved or no, sir, I command you to ride with me or to return to your home. You are in arms against the king, the government, and the law of this land. Surrender!"

"Sir Godfrey, too much commanding of slaves to your wishes has rendered you absurd of speech."

"Do you hear me, sir?" cried Sir Godfrey. "I order you to follow me."

Colonel Forrester's hand went again to his sword, but he snatched it back.

"I cannot answer your intemperate words, Sir Godfrey," he said; "and I will not presume to utter so vain a command to you. This is free England, sir, where every man who dares to think, thinks according to his belief. We have been old friends; our boys have grown up together as brothers, but the exigencies of our political faith sunder us widely apart. Ride you your way, sir, and I pray you let me go mine; and may our ways be farther and farther separated, so that we may never meet again till it is in peace."

As he spoke, he turned his horse, and rode slowly away down the western road, leaving Sir Godfrey chafing angrily, and fidgeting with the hilt of his sword, as he sat gazing after his old friend calmly ignoring his presence, and followed by his son and his serving-man.

"I ought to arrest him—a man openly in arms against the law; an enemy to his majesty, who may work him terrible ill. But I cannot do it; I cannot do it. Old friends—brothers; our wives who have been as sisters."

He paused for a few moments, gazing after the retiring figures, and then jerked his horse round so sharply that the poor beast reared.

"Left! Forward!" cried Sir Godfrey then, and he rode on to the east, followed at a short distance by Nat and his son.

Before they had gone a dozen yards, Nat, who was fidgeting about in his saddle, evidently in a state of considerable mental perturbation, wrenched himself round and looked after the Manor people, to see that Samson was waiting for him to do so; and as soon as he did look, it was to see a derisive threatening gesture, Samson, by pantomime, suggesting that if he only had his brother's head under his arm, he would punch his nose till he made it bleed.

"Ur-r-r-r!" snarled Nat, with a growl like that of an irritated dog.

"What's the matter, Nat?"

"Matter, sir? See that Samson—ah, he's a rank bad 'un—shaking his fist at me, and pretending to punch me? Here, I must go and give it him now."

"No, no," cried Scar, catching at Black Adder's rein. "Your orders are to follow your colonel."

"But are we to let that brother of mine insult his majesty's troops?"

"We can afford to treat it with contempt," said Scarlett, solemnly, though Nat's words and allusions made him feel disposed to laugh.

"But I want to treat it to a big leathering, Master Scar. Here, sir, mayn't I ride after him and fetch him off his horse?"

"No; certainly not."

"But, Master Scar, what could your father be thinking of? Here had we got three of the ugliest Philistines in Coombeland in our hand, and we've let 'em go to blight and freeze and blast everything. What could Sir Godfrey be thinking about?"

"Nat."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know what is a soldier's first duty?"

"To fight, sir."

"No: to obey orders."

"But we aren't soldiers yet."

"I think we are; so be silent."

"Yes, sir; but if I only had leave, I'd draw my sword, gallop after that bad brother of mine, and fetch him off his horse, or jackass, or whatever the miserable beast is that he has his legs across."

"And kill him? Your own brother?"

"Kill him? Not I, sir. He arn't worth it. No; I'd take him prisoner, nearly knock his head off, and then I'd tie his hands to the tail of my horse, and drag him to the king's camp in triumph."

Scarlett made no answer, for he had no faith in his servant's threats; and together they rode on and on after Sir Godfrey, over the pleasant moor, and on to the cultivated lands, and then on and on still into the darkness, which seemed, as it thickened, like the gross darkness of war and destruction, sweeping down upon the fair and sunny west.

So thought Scarlett Markham, as he still rode on through the darkness, and then his thoughts returned to home, and his mother's attitude as she flung herself upon her knees, her clasped hands toward heaven, as she uttered a prayer for the protection of those she loved.

Sir Godfrey made no sign. He merely turned from time to time to see if those he led were close behind, and then rode slowly on to join those whose hands were raised against their brothers—father and sons to plunge into the terrible warfare, which, once begun, seemed to know no end.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

WARLIKE EXPERIENCES.

A year rapidly passed away, during which, young and slight as they were, Scarlett Markham and Fred Forrester seemed to have changed into boyish young men. The excitement of a soldier's life had forced them on, and with great rapidity they had mastered the various matters of discipline then known to the army. Sir Godfrey and Colonel Forrester were received by the opposing factions with delight, their old military knowledge making them invaluable, and they were at once placed in command of regiments of horse, newly raised, and whose training caused them immense effort.

But the men were of splendid material, and before long Forrester's and Markham's Horse were looked upon with respect; soon after with envy.

In these two regiments the boys from Coombeland served six months as ordinary soldiers, till, partly for their ability, partly from the dash they had shown, they were nominally raised to the rank of officers, the men of their troops willingly following the lead of the brave boys who rode with them into dangers many enough.

For, in those stern times, no father could spare his son. Those who elected to serve had to run all risks, and the consequence was that on either side the making of a good fighting army took but little time.

"It do me good to see you, Master Scar," Nat used to say, as he rode always at his young master's heels. "Think of a boy like you being an orficer!"

"A very poor one, Nat."

"Nay, Master Scar, I don't know another in the regiment the men would sooner follow."

Equality of situation brings similarity of remark, and it was in like words that Samson, after a tirade about his unnatural brother for fighting against him, would address his young master from the Manor.

And so another six months passed away, with the war-tide setting here and there on the borders of Coombeland, but never spreading its devastating influence there. The two lads grew more and more imbued with the war-faith of their parties, and as they became sturdier and more manly, hardened as they were by the rough, open air life they led, a feeling of bitterness foreign to their natures rapidly increased, till they were ready to speak with hate and contempt of the enemy they blamed for destroying the peace of the land.

And all this time, to Fred and Scar, home was becoming rapidly a memory. By the merest chances, they heard that all was well, and, compelled to be content with this scanty news, they plunged into their work again, till the roar of cannon and clash of steel became familiar as were the terrors of the scene of some desperate fight, such as modern soldiers would speak of as a desultory skirmish.

Eighteen months with the army, and, in spite of exposure, neither of the Coombeland lads had met, or, as far as they knew, been near each other, and neither of the two little parties from Hall and Manor had met with a wound.

But sterner times were near at hand. After much desultory fighting, the Parliamentary forces were mustering strongly in the far west, and those of the king had made Bristol a stronghold, and were moving on.

There were two leaders of opposing ideas, who prayed that the war might not sweep their way, but, as they prayed, they felt that the prayer was vain, and their brows grew rugged as they read how surely what they dreaded must follow, and felt how likely a battle-ground the moor would prove in the neighbourhood of their peaceful homes.

The little petty encounters kept on day after day, week after week, as if each side was practising its men and trying their strength for some great fight to come, and all the while, round and about Barnstaple and away toward Exeter, the forces were gathering, till all at once, when least expected, scouts came in from east and west with news that told of a probable encounter, perhaps before another sun had set.

Those who knew best, however, were not so sanguine till after that sun had set, and among those was General Hedley, who gradually and cautiously advanced, feeling his way step by step, each step being a natural stronghold, which would help him against the dashing onslaughts of Charles's cavaliers.

But forty-eight hours had not elapsed before the rival forces were face to face, when a little skirmishing took place, and then darkness put an end to the varied encounters, the combatants waiting for daylight, when a battle was bound to ensue. This fight must inevitably prove serious to one or the other side, and either the Parliamentarian forces would be driven back into the far west, where their scattered strength could be quenched as the remains of a fire are beaten out, or else the king's men would be driven towards Exeter, after what must prove a deadly blow.

That night the occupants of Hall and Manor lay down to sleep within hearing of the sentinels of each army, and the two lads, worn out with fatigue, slept heavily, to dream of the homes they were so near—dreams full of trouble and anxiety, as they seemed to see the sweet faces of those they loved anxiously listening to the roar of gun and clash of sword, and wondering what was to be their fate and where they could flee if matters came to the worst.

A trumpet roused Scarlett Markham from his dream of home. The deep roll of drums awakened Fred, and as daylight came, and the larks sprang from the dewy moor to carol high in the soft, grey, gold flecked sky, there was the trampling of men and the snorting of horses, and then the first gun belched forth its destroying message against the advancing forces of the king.

Needless to tell of that fight of brother against brother with the horrors of the field. Hour after hour went by, hours of manoeuvring and change of front, and always with the king's men gaining ground, and driving back the Parliamentarians, whose position seemed to be growing desperate. And as the Royalist leaders saw their advantage, they grew more reckless, and urged their men on, till it seemed as if a dozen lesser fights were in progress, the grim men of the Commonwealth fighting hard to hold their own.

This went on till the afternoon, when, in their exhaustion, the king's men paused almost with wonder at the stubborn front still presented to their steel.

"It is their last despairing stand," said the Royalist general to himself, and he gathered his men for a final advance upon the low hill crowned by the enemy.

The advance was made by men wearied out, against those who had not done half the marching and counter-marching, and as they swept on, they saw the change in the front for which they had looked so long—at first with triumph, then with despair. For now General Hedley sent forward his grim squadrons, held so long in reserve, and, raging with their long inaction, they dashed down the slope like a thunderbolt which met the Cavaliers half-way, broke through them, rode them down, and before the two parts into which they were divided could recover in the slightest degree, from the right and left flanks fresh squadrons broke down upon them, and in five minutes the imaginary triumph had become a rout.

The king's banner that day lay low, the royal standard trailing in the dust, as a wild shout of victory was raised by the soldiers of the Parliament, and the gaily caparisoned Cavaliers in bitter despair fled broken and in disorder for their lives.

"Oh, evil fortune!" groaned Sir Godfrey, as he reluctantly galloped away beside his son, their jaded horses going heavily, with heaving flanks. "Quick, my boy, quick!"

"Oh, father," cried Scarlett, "and we are galloping away from home."



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

FRED FORRESTER'S PRISONER.

Wild nearly with excitement, Fred Forrester kept his place in the ranks of his father's regiment all through that busy day of advance, retreat, and skirmish; but the Forresters were held in reserve during the final charge which resulted in the scattering of the king's forces before the warriors of the Parliament.

The day was won, and pursuit was going on in all directions; but the main body of the Parliamentarians were camping for the night, and tents were being set up, the wounded brought in, and strong parties engaged in burying the dead, while, as troop after troop returned with batches of prisoners, these were placed under guard, after being carefully disarmed.

The Forresters had dismounted at the edge of a beautiful, grove-like patch of timber at the foot of a hill. A stream of pure water babbled among the rocks, and, as the soft summer evening came slowly on, the grim, warlike aspect of the scene seemed to die out, and the smoke of the camp-fires, the pennons fluttering in the evening breeze, and the glinting of breastplate and morion formed a picture against the background of green, which might from a distance have been taken for one of peace.

Fred had dismounted, and, after taking off his heavy morion, which he would never own was too big and uncomfortable to a degree, hung it from the pommel of his saddle, while he patted and made much of his horse, unbuckling the bit, and leading the handsome beast to where it could make a meal from the soft, green grass.

"Poor old lad!" he said; "you must be nearly tired out."

The horse whinnied, and began feeding at once, while, after watching the men making their preparations for the bivouac, Fred was about to throw himself down, being too weary after his many hours in the saddle to care for food, when his father rode up, followed by a couple of the officers.

"Ah, Fred, my boy," he cried; "that's right: take care of your horse. There will be some supper ready in about half an hour. A glorious day, my boy, a glorious day; and I'm proud of the way you behaved!"

"Are you, father," said Fred, sadly. "I don't think I have done much."

"You have done all I could wish to see you do. But, there, I must go and see after our men. Come up to my quarters soon, and eat, and then lie down and sleep. I may want you before long."

"To go on guard, sir?"

"No; for any little duty—to take charge of prisoners, perhaps. Where is Samson?"

"Gone, father."

"What? Not killed?"

"I hope not, father; but after that gallop, when we last changed front, I missed him, and, though we have searched, we can't find him. I'm afraid the enemy carried him off."

"Poor lad! A brave fellow, Fred. There, I must go."

"Shall I come with you now, father?"

"No; lie down and rest till the meal is ready."

Colonel Forrester rode off with his followers, and his son walked wearily to where his horse was feeding, and led it where it could have a hearty drink of the pure water. Then, having turned it loose again, he threw himself down, and lay gazing at the sunlit scene, wishing that the war was over, and that he could go back to the dear old manor house, and enjoy the pleasures of home and peace.

How beautiful it all looked, the golden sunshine glorifying the oak-trees with their tender leaves, and turning the pine trunks bronze-red! The films of wood smoke from the camp-fires spread in a pale blue vapour, and the babbling stream flashed. But, restful as the scene was, and pleasant as the reclining posture was to his aching bones, Fred did not feel happy, for he knew that not far away men were lying in fever and weariness, cut, stabbed, trampled by horse hoof, and shattered by bullet, many of them waiting anxiously for death, the same death that had come upon so many of their fellows, who were lying stark on the field, or being hastily laid in rows in their shallow grave.

"When will it all be over?" he said to himself. "I wonder where Scar is;" and then he thought how horrible it would be if ever he were to meet his old friend in action.

"And him with a sword in his hand and me with a sword in mine," he muttered. "Should we fight? I suppose so," he added, after a few moments' thought. "We are enemies now."

He started up on his elbow, for just then there was a cheer, in salutation of a man who was coming slowly up, leading his horse; and it only needed a second glance to show that it was Samson.

Fred forgot his weariness, sprang up, and ran toward his follower, who caught sight of him directly, and hastened to meet him.

"Oh!" ejaculated Fred, as he drew nearer and caught sight of the man's face. "What a horrible wound! Samson, lad, we thought you a prisoner, or dead."

"I arn't a prisoner, because I'm here," grumbled Samson; "and I arn't dead yet, thank ye, Master Fred."

"But your wound. Come on to the surgeon at once."

"My wound, sir?"

"Yes. Your face looks terrible. How did you manage to get here?"

"Face looks terrible—manage to get here! I'll tell you, sir. A big fellow with a broad grey hat and feathers, and all long hair and ragged lace, spurred at me, and, if I hadn't been tidy sharpish, he'd have rode me down. Hit at me, too, he did, with his sword, and caught me on the shoulder, but it didn't cut through the leather; and, 'fore he could get another cut at me, I give him a wipe on the head as made him rise up in his sterrups and hit at me with his fist."

"His fist, Samson?"

"Yes, sir. There was his sword in it, of course, and the pommel hit me right on the nose; and before I could get over it, he was off along with the rest, full gallop, and I was sitting on the ground, thinking about my mother and what a mess I was in, and my horse looking as if he was ashamed of me, as I was of myself. I wonder he didn't gallop off, too; but I s'pose he thought he wouldn't get a better master."

"But your face, Samson? It looks horrid."

"Well, I can't help that, Master Fred, can I? Didn't make my own face. Good enough to come and fight with."

"Come along with me to the surgeon."

"What, and leave my horse? Not I, sir."

"A man's wounds are of more consequence than a horse."

"Who says so? I think a mortal deal more o' my horse than I do o' my wounds. 'Sides I arn't got no wounds."

"You have, and don't know it. You have quite a mask of blood on your face. It is hideous."

"Yah! that's nothing. It's my nose. It always was a one to bleed. Whenever that brother o' mine, who went to grief and soldiering, used to make me smell his fist, my nose always bled, and his fist was quite as hard as that hard-riding R'y'list chap's. Called me a Roundhead dog, too, he did, as he hit me. If I'd caught him, I'd ha' rounded his head for him."

"Yes, yes, of course, Samson; but come down to the stream, and bathe your face. Your horse is grazing now."

"You're getting too vain and partic'lar, Master Fred," grumbled Samson. "You're thinking of looking nice, like the R'y'lists, when you ought to be proud of a little blood shed in the good cause."

"I am proud and ready too, Samson; but come and wash your face."

"I'll come," grumbled Samson; "and I never kears about washing myself now. Never a drop o' hot water, no towels, no soap, and no well, and no buckets. Once a week seems quite enough, specially as you has to wait till you get dry."

By a little persuasion, Samson was led to the stream, where he knelt down and bathed his face, looking up to his master from time to time to ask if that was better, the final result being that, beyond a little swelling on one side, Samson's nose was none the worse for the encounter.

"There!" he cried at last; "I suppose that will do, sir."

"Yes, my lad, and I'm very, very glad you have escaped so well."

"Oh, I've 'scaped well enough, Master Fred; deal better than I deserved. We're a wicked, bad, good-for-nothing family. Look at our Nat, fighting against his own brother."

"It is very sad, Samson," said Fred; "but, remember, you are fighting against him."

"That I arn't, sir. It's him fighting against me, and I only wish I may run against him some day. I'd make him so sore that he'll lie down and howl for his mother, poor soul, and she breaking her heart about him turning out so badly; and, I say, Master Fred, if I don't have something to eat, I shall be only fit to bury to-morrow."

"Come with me, Samson; I'm going up to my father's quarters. I'll see that you have plenty to eat, if there is anything."

"Who'd be without a good master?" muttered Samson; and then aloud, "Here he comes."

For Colonel Forrester came cantering up.

"Alive and well, Samson? Good lad! We couldn't spare you. Fred, my boy, news has come in that a little party of the enemy has taken shelter in the woodland yonder over the hill. Take a dozen men, surround them, and bring them in. Don't let one of them escape. Turned back by one of the regiments crossing their path as they were in retreat. Now, then, to horse and away!"

Burning with excitement, Fred forgot all his weariness, buckled his horse's bit, mounted, and turned to select his men, when he found Samson already mounted, and at his elbow.

"Here, what do you want, sir?" he cried.

"What do I want, Master Fred? Why, to go with you."

"Nonsense! You are fagged out. Go and rest, and your horse too."

"Now, I do call that likely, Master Fred. Let you go without me. I should just think not."

"But this is nonsense, Samson. I want fresh men."

"Just what I thought, sir. Nonsense for you to go without me, and you don't want no fresh men. You want me, and I'm coming—there!"

Fred had neither time nor inclination to combat his follower's desire; in fact, he was rather glad to have the sturdy, west-country man at his elbow, so he rode up to the main portion of the regiment, selected eleven out of a hundred who wanted to go with the young officer, and rode off at a moderate trot across country, forded the stream, and then, bearing away from the woodland, made as if to leave it on his right, so as not to excite suspicion in case they were seen. But just as he was well opposite, he gave an order, the men divided in two parties, and set off at a gallop to surround the trees, the mounted men halting at about a hundred yards apart, and waiting for the signal to advance.

The manoeuvre was soon executed, and the circle moved steadily toward the centre of the park-like patch of ground, so open that as the ring grew smaller there was not the slightest prospect of any of the enemy breaking through unseen.

Fred, in his anxiety to carry out his father's commands successfully, had remained at the foot of the wooded slope, Samson being on his right and another trustworthy fellow on his left, for he felt sure that those of whom they were in search would break out in his direction. In fact, he sat there waiting for his men to drive the intended prisoners down for him to take.

The task was not long, for the tramping of horses was heard, and the rustling and crackling of the undergrowth; but the enemy did not break cover.

At last, though, there was a rush and the clash of steel, and, with his heart throbbing, the lad signed to his nearest men to close up, and they advanced together, then set spur to their horses, and made a dash for a clump of bushes, where three horsemen were striving to get out through the tangle; and as they reached them Fred uttered an exclamation full of anger.

"Look at that!" cried Samson. "Why, they're our own men."

Fred uttered an impatient cry.

"Couldn't you see them?" he said to the first man who struggled out of the bushes.

"No, sir; nobody there."

"Then you must have missed them, and they are there now."

"We searched the place well," said another man; and one by one, as the party closed up, they told the same tale.

"Father was deceived," thought Fred; and the more readily, that it was not the first example by many of pieces of false news brought in by spies.

"Here!" he cried aloud, "we'll all ride through again. Ah! look yonder. Forward! Gallop!" he shouted; and, setting spurs to his horse, he dashed off, followed by his men, for there, a quarter of a mile to the left, was a little party of six horsemen stealing along a narrow coombe, after evading their pursuers in some way.

They were well in view as Fred emerged from the wooded land, and were evidently spurring hard to escape, and for the next quarter of an hour the chances seemed even, for the distance was maintained, and each party kept well together; but after that the pace began to tell, and horse and man tailed off till both parties seemed to be straggling over the ground, the better-mounted to the front, the worse hanging behind.

It was soon evident that the pursuers' horses were far fresher than those of the Royalists; and after shouting to his men to come on, Fred raced forward, with Samson close behind, and after a headlong gallop of about ten minutes, the young leader had overtaken the hindmost horseman, who was standing in his stirrups, his morion close down over his eyes, his back up, and apparently blind to everything that was before him as well as behind.

"Have him, Samson, lad," cried Fred, as he spurred on past this fugitive to try and overtake the leader, a young-looking man in showy cavalier hat and feathers, who kept on turning in his saddle and encouraging his men to fresh exertions.

The next minute, as they thundered along, Samson rode straight at the man with the morion over his eyes, but before he could reach him the fugitive's horse made a poor attempt to clear a bush in his way, stumbled, fell headlong, and shot his rider half a dozen yards in front.

"Prisoners; and don't hurt them," shouted Fred, waving his sword, and his men gave an answering yell. So did the pursued, for no sooner did the young leader discover that one of his men was down than he checked his horse, held up his sword for the others to rally round him, and turned at once on the party headed by Fred.

It was a gallant attempt, but useless. Their horses were spent, and as they were checked before they could make any effective stand, Fred's party literally sprung at them. There was a sharp shock; the exchange of a few blows, and it was all over, the little party being literally ridden down, their leader going over, horse and all, at Fred's charge.

The young Cavalier struggled free from his fallen horse, and tried to drag a pistol from the holster at his saddle-bow, for his sword had flown a dozen yards away among the bushes; but Fred had him by the neck directly, his hand well inside the steel gorget he wore, and in one breath he shouted, as he held his sword at his breast, "Surrender!" and then, "Scar Markham! You!"

"Yes. Give up, my lads," cried the prisoner. "We've done all we could. Let the crop-ears have a few prisoners for once in a way."



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

TEASING A PRISONER.

Fred Forrester was too much astonished at the result of his pursuit to make any sharp retort, but sat holding his prisoner by the gorget, staring wildly at his old playmate, who seemed wonderfully changed since their last meeting, and who had looked, in spite of dust and sweat, tall and handsome in his gay frippery, scarf, scarlet feather, and long curling hair.

"Well, rebel," cried the prisoner; and Fred started from his reverie. "Am I the first you ever had the luck to take that you stare in that way? Don't choke me."

Fred's tanned cheeks grew crimson, and his brow was knit as he turned away his face to look after his men, who in the meantime had taken the whole of the little party, dismounted those who needed it, bound their arms behind; their back, and collected the horses.

"Look ye here, sir," cried Samson, dragging forward the man in the morion, who came behind limping, "I've got him at last. This is my wretch of a brother, who has taken up arms against me."

"Against you—you ill-looking dog!" cried Scarlett, fiercely. "How dare you! Crop-eared rebel!"

"That will do, sir," said Fred, sternly; for, after being a little overawed by the gallant aspect of his prisoner, he was recovering himself, and recollecting his position. "Will you give your promise not to escape, or must I have you bound?"

"Promise to a set of knaves like you?" cried the youth, fiercely. "No. Do what you will; only, mind this—our time will come."

"Yes; and when it does," cried Nat, shaking his head to get rid of the iron cap which was over his eyes, for his hands were bound, "we'll show them what it is to be rebels, eh, Master Scarlett—captain, I mean?"

"Silence, sir!" cried Fred, angrily; and, after giving the men orders, the little party returned with their prisoners in their midst, Scarlett behind, gazing haughtily before him, and paying no heed to a few words addressed to him at first by his captor, who reined back at the slight, and followed afterwards at the rear of his little troop, angry and indignant at Scarlett's contemptuous manner, and at the same time sorry and glad, the latter feeling perhaps predominating, for he had successfully carried out his father's commands.

"I wish it had been some one else," he was thinking, as the little party rode on, the prisoners mounted on their horses, but looking in sorry plight with their hands bound behind. "What will my father say when he sees who it is?"

At that moment the sound of angry voices and a hoarse laugh from the troopers made Fred urge his horse forward.

"What is this?" he said. "I will not have the prisoners insulted."

"It's the prisoners insulting us, Master Fred—I mean captain. It's this ne'er-do-well of a brother o' mine bragging and bouncing because his hair's grown a bit longer than mine. He keeps calling me crop-ears, sir, and showing off as if he was a Cavalier."