"You have a horse here, have you not?"

"No, sir, only a pony; and if I took the short cut it would not be a long journey."

"But could the pony do the journey to-day?"

"Do it to-day, sir? Yes; she's as hard as a stag."

"That will do for the present," said Colonel Forrester.

"Shall I ride over for the doctor, sir?"

"No. Send up your master."

The lad went down quite sulkily, and delivered his message, while Colonel Forrester smiled at his son.

"Well, Fred," he said, "I suppose you see now?"

Fred's answer was cut short off by the heavy step of the landlord, who came up with a sympathising look in his face, and seemed eager to serve.

"The young gentleman's not worse, sir, I hope."

"You are sorry for him, then?" said the colonel, quietly.

"Sorry for him, sir? Why of course I am."

"As sorry as you were for the young prisoner he brought by here."

"Oh yes, sir, I was sorry for him, too; but he was not wounded."

"You treacherous dog!" cried the colonel, in a voice of thunder, as he seized the landlord by the throat, and forced him to his knees; "so nothing would do but you must bid that boy take the pony and ride over to Brownsand so as to betray the fact that an escort of prisoners had halted at your house and were gone on by the Brownsand road."

"No, sir; I never—I never did."

"You lie, you old villain: tell the truth before I hand you over to my men, and have you hung for a spy on the nearest tree."

"I swear, colonel, I never did anything of the kind," cried the landlord, piteously.

"No, sir, it is not true," cried a girlish voice; and the landlord's little daughter appeared in the doorway.

"Then pray who did?" cried Colonel Forrester.

"I did, sir," said the girl, undauntedly.

"And pray, why?"

"Because I heard that the young officer was Sir Godfrey Markham's son, and it seemed so horrible that he should be dragged off a prisoner."

"What do you know of Sir Godfrey Markham?" asked the colonel, sternly.

"I had heard my father speak of him, sir."

"And so you planned all this and executed it yourself?"

"Yes, sir; I sent our lad off with a message to where the king's men lay."

"I need not ask, I suppose, whether you are telling the truth," said the colonel, grimly.

"No, sir. Why should I tell a lie?" replied the girl, quietly; and she looked unflinchingly in her questioner's face.

"And at the first opportunity, I suppose, you will betray us into the enemy's hands?"

"Oh no, sir," said the girl, with the tears in her eyes, as she glanced at Fred. "I would sooner try and save you, though you are the enemies of our king."

"Silence, girl! there is no king now in England, only a man who calls himself king. A tyrant who has been driven from the throne."

The girl flushed and held up her head.

"It is not true," she cried, proudly. "God save the king!"

"What!" cried Colonel Forrester, in a voice of thunder; and for the first time the innkeeper spoke, his ruddy face now mottled with white, and his hands trembling as he placed them together beseechingly.

"Don't take any notice of what she says, sir. She's a foolish, wilful girl, sir. I've been a miserable coward to hold my tongue so long, but I will speak now. It was all my doing. I held back so as not to seem in the business, because I wanted to be friends with both sides, sir; but I could not bear to see the young squire carried off a prisoner, and I winked at it all. It was my doing, sir. Don't believe a word she says."

"Father, what have you said?" cried his child, clinging to him.

"Hush! Hold your tongue," he whispered angrily.

"So we have the truth at last," said the colonel. "You convict yourself of being a spy and traitor; and you know your fate, I suppose?"

As Colonel Forrester spoke, he rose and walked to the window, made a sign with his hand, and directly after heavy steps were heard upon the stairs, accompanied by the clank of arms.

In an instant the girl was at the colonel's feet.

"Oh, sir, what are you going to do?" she shrieked. "He is my father."

The guilty innkeeper's lips were quivering, and the white portions in his face were gradually increasing, to the exclusion of the red, for the steps of the soldiers on the stairs brought vividly before his eyes the scene of a spy's fate. He knew what such a traitor's end would be, and, speechless with terror, he could hardly keep his feet, as he looked from his child to the stern colonel and back again.

"Father!" she cried, "why don't you speak? Why don't you ask him to forgive us?"

"Mercy—mercy!" faltered the wretched man.

"What mercy did you have on my poor boy?" cried the colonel, fiercely. "Through your treachery, he was surrounded by five times the number of his own men; and, for aught you cared, instead of lying wounded here he might have been dead."

"Mercy! I did not know," gasped the miserable culprit.

"Mercy? Yes; you shall have the choice of your own trees on which to hang," cried the colonel.

"No, no; mercy!" gasped the trembling man, dropping on his knees; "for my child's sake—for Heaven's sake—spare me!"

"Father!" cried Fred, excitedly.

"Silence, boy! I am their judge," said Colonel Forrester, sternly. "Yes, man, for your child's sake, I will spare you, in spite of your cowardly treachery."

"Father, father!" cried the girl, excitedly; but he could not speak.

"Yes, I will spare you for your child's sake," said the colonel again. "There, little woman, I forgive you, for you are as brave and true-hearted as can be. I believe you—every word. Your little heart was moved to pity for the prisoner, as it has been moved to pity for my poor boy here, and for my men."

He took her hand in his, and held it.

"I have heard of all your busy nursing, and I do not blame you; I would rather praise. There, help the old man downstairs, and I am not afraid of your betraying us."

The girl raised his hand and kissed it before rushing to her father, flinging her arms about him, and helping him away, so weak and semi-paralysed by fright that he could hardly totter from the room, the colonel following to the door, and signing to the soldiers to go down.

"There, he has had his punishment," said the colonel, smiling; "and now you will be able to rest in peace."

"Thank you, father, thank you," whispered Fred, huskily.

"You see you were not to blame now."

"Not so much as I thought, father."

"Not to blame at all. There, make haste and grow strong, my boy, before we are driven out in turn by the enemy."

"Are they near, father?"

"No; as far as I know, my boy. But the victors of yesterday are the defeated to-day, perhaps to win again to-morrow. Ah, my boy, it is fratricidal work! and, though I love my cause as well as ever, I would give all I possess as one of the richest men in our county to see home smiling again in peace."



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

TOWARDS HOME.

Weeks followed of desultory warfare. One day messengers came bringing news to the little inn—which had gradually become head-quarters from the coming there of General Hedley, and the centre to which reinforcements were continually gathering—that the king's men were once more in force, and preparations were made for a hasty move.

"Far sooner than I could wish, my boy," said the colonel, as he sat beside his son after a busy day.

"But I feel quite strong again, father," pleaded Fred. "You are too anxious about me."

"Too anxious, my boy? No, I think not. Well, you will have to try and sit your horse again, even if you are a non-combatant."

"Which way shall we retreat?" asked Fred.

"Retreat? Who said anything about retreat?" cried a stern voice, and General Hedley entered the room. "Oh, you, eh, boy?" he continued, shaking one of his buff gauntlets at the convalescent. "Don't you let Captain Miles hear you say that again. We may move to a different position, but we will not talk of retreat yet."

Fred felt the colour burning once more in his pale cheeks, and the general went on—

"Forrester, I want a chat with you. Come into my room. I have fresh despatches."

The colonel followed his leader out of the little parlour which had been devoted to the wounded lad by the general's command, he having insisted upon its being retained when he joined them there, and tents had sprung up in all directions upon the moor close to the inn.

Directly after, there was a hoarse cough heard outside, in company with a heavy step.

"Hem! Master Fred, sir."

"You, Samson?"

"Yes, sir. Alone, sir?"

"Yes."

"May I speak to you!"

"Yes; go on."

Samson's head appeared at the window, upon the sill of which he leaned his arms as he gazed in.

"Getting quite tidy again, arn't you, sir!" he said, in a hoarse whisper.

"Yes, quite strong; and you?"

"Never better, sir; only wind feels a little short sometimes, and I gets too hot too soon."

"You didn't come to tell me that, Samson."

"No, sir; I come to tell you there's news in the camp."

"What of?—a movement?"

"Yes, sir; that's it."

"Do you know where we're going next!"

"No, sir; do you?"

"No, Samson; and I should say that is the general's secret. We shall know when we get there."

"Start to-morrow, don't we, sir?"

"Impossible to say. What do they say in the camp?"

"Weather-cockery."

"What?"

"Well, sir, it's just like a vane in a wind: now it's east, now it's west, and when it ain't east or west, it's north or south. Everybody says everybody else is wrong. But we are going somewhere directly; that's for certain. And, I say, Master Fred."

"Yes?"

"How do you feel about mounting your horse again?"

"I long to, Samson. How are the poor beasts?"

"Lovely, sir. The farrier doctored the cuts and scratches they got in the skirmish, and they're pretty well healed up now. It's a cowardly thing to cut at a horse. Then you feel strong enough to have a try, sir?"

"You wait till we get the orders to start, Samson, and you shall see."

Samson rubbed his hands and began to smile, but the pleasant look was ousted by a grotesque twitching of the countenance.

"What's the matter?"

"I always forget, sir. Wound reminds me when I go too fast, and aren't careful. All right again soon, though. Don't hear no noos of the war being over, sir, I s'pose?"

"No, Samson, none. Tired of it?"

"Tired, sir? I don't know about tired, but I can't help thinking of the manor now and then, and what sort of a state my garden will be in. Why, Master Fred, sir, you know that bit under the north wall, where the mistress's herbs and simples grow!"

"Yes."

"Well, sir, I shan't know that bit again. That there patch in partic'lar 'll be one big touzle o' weeds, and—"

Tantara, tantara, tantara! A trumpet rang out, sending a thrill through Fred, as he grasped its meaning, and that of the blasts that followed, with the rush of feet and trampling of horses. For a messenger had come in bearing a despatch, and in an incredibly short space of time tents were struck, baggage waggons loaded, and the little force was marching slowly to the west, Fred having only time to shake hands with his little nurse, and assure the landlord for the fiftieth time that he forgave him for being the cause of his wounds, and was most grateful for the kindness he had received.

Then, to his intense delight, he was once more mounted on his horse, which gave a whinny of recognition as his master patted his neck and smoothed his velvet muzzle. The trumpets rang out the advance, and with the sun flashing from the men's arms, the array moved slowly off, and the youth's eyes sparkled as he drew in long breaths of the soft sweet air, while he gazed wonderingly in the direction they were taking, his breast filled with new hopes, in which he was afraid to indulge, lest they should prove to be false.

The longing to question his superior officers was intense, though he knew that even they would probably be in ignorance of their route; and never before had he felt so strongly that a soldier is only a portion of one great piece of mechanism moved by one—the general in command.

As they settled down at last into the line of march, Fred found himself for the present with the staff, riding behind his father, who was General Hedley's most trusted follower, but hours went on before a word passed between father and son. Such conversation as did ensue was with Samson, who rode behind, neither being considered sufficiently recovered to go back to the regiment, but settling down to the work of aide-de-camp and orderly.

And as they rode slowly on, the cavalry halting from time to time to give the infantry opportunities for keeping up and preserving their position in the column, it soon became evident that the Royalists, who had made no sign in their neighbourhood for weeks, must be somewhere near at hand. For the greatest precautions were taken, scouting parties were out, and a regiment of horse formed flankers well away on either side to guard against surprise.

Fred was riding slowly on at a short distance behind his father, thinking with all a convalescent's freedom from fever and pain, of how beautiful everything around seemed to be, and longing to cast aside the trammels of discipline, so as to be a boy in nature once more, as well as in years, when a low voice behind him made him sharply turn his head.

"Don't it seem a pity, Master Fred?"

"Eh? What, Samson?"

"Why, sir, that we should be all riding and walking along here over this moor, thinking about hoeing up and raking down people and mowing 'em off, instead of enjoying ourselves like Christians?"

"Ah, yes," sighed Fred; "it does. It is very beautiful, though, all the same."

"Beautiful, sir? Ah, Master Fred, how I should like to put away my tools—I mean this here sword and pistol—and for you and me to take off our boots and stockings, and wade up yonder stream after the trout."

"Hah!" ejaculated Fred, with his eyes brightening. "Yes."

"Or to go away north, and get out on that there short soft grass, as always looks as if it had been kept well-mown, out there by the Rill Head, and lie down on our backs, and look at the sun shining on the sea and ships a-sailing along, eh, Master Fred?"

"Oh, Samson, Samson, don't talk about it!" sighed Fred, as he gazed right away in imagination at the scene his rough companion painted.

"Can't help it, sir. Feel as if I must. Steady, my lad! you mustn't break away for a gallop. We're soldiers now."

This was to his horse, which felt grass beneath its feet and the wind blowing, and wanted to be off.

"'Member how the rabbits used to scuttle off up there, Master Fred, and show their white tails as they popped into their holes?"

Fred nodded, and let his reins fall upon his horse's neck.

"And that there hole up in the Rill, sir? 'Member how I come and found your clothes up beside it, and fetched my garden line to fish for your rope?"

"Oh yes, yes, yes!" said Fred, sadly.

"And we never went down that place again, after all, sir. Well, let's hope that we shall some day. I'm getting tired of soldiering, and feel as if it would be a real pleasure to have a mug of our cider again, and pull up a weed."

"I'm afraid I am getting tired of it, too, Samson; but I cannot see the end."

"And on a fine day like this, sir, with the blue sky up above, and the green grass down below, and the birds singing, it's just lovely. Why, I feel so well and happy this morning that I do believe, if he was here, I could go so far as to shake hands with my brother Nat."

"Why, of course, Samson," said Fred, thoughtfully.

"No," added Samson, "I don't think I could go so far as that."

"And if Scarlett Markham were here," thought Fred, "I believe I could grasp his hand, and be like a brother again, as in the past."

"Wonder where we are going, and whether it means another fight, sir?" said Samson, after a pause. "Look, sir!—the colonel. Master's waving his hand."

Fred saw the motion, and trotted up to his father's side.

"Fred, my boy, do you know where we are making for?"

"No, father!"

"Home."

"Oh, father!" said Fred, with his pale face flushing. "I am glad."

"Oh, Fred, my boy," replied his father, seriously, "I am very sorry."

"Sorry, father? Why, we may have a chance to see them all again."

"Yes—perhaps; but we are taking the horrors of war to the abode of peace, my boy."

"Yes," said Fred, thoughtfully. "I did not think of that."

"It was our duty and hope that we might keep the ruin and misery brought by war from our pleasant moors and lanes. Better not see those we love at such a cost."

"Then, don't let's go, father."

Colonel Forrester shook his head.

"A soldier's duty is to obey, Fred. Our general has had his orders, and feels that for military reasons our district will be the most suitable place for intercepting a force which is threatening the west; and our duty is to go."

"Yes, father. But shall we see my mother?"

"I hope not, Fred."

"Oh, father!"

"Not yet awhile, my boy. We must only think of those we love when our duty to our country is done."

They rode on in silence for a time, with Fred picturing, amid the trampling of hoofs and jingle of weapons, the scenes of his boyhood, but to be awakened from his dream by his father's voice.

"Do not talk about our destination. I only tell you, my boy, because it is a matter which interests us both."

"No, father. You may trust me."

"I know that, or I should not speak. Our destination is—"

"Not the Manor, father?"

"No, my boy, the Hall."

Fred sat staring wildly at his father, as bit by bit he grasped what this really meant to these who had always been their nearest friends; and then, bubbling over with excitement, he exclaimed—

"Oh, father, Sir Godfrey will think this is your doing."

"Yes, my boy."

"And is it, father?"

There was a pause.

"Oh, father, how could you?"

"Don't misjudge me, boy," said the colonel, sternly. "I have done everything I could to stop it."

"And—"

"Failed, Fred. It is a strong position for many reasons, and I have been compelled, by my duty to my country, to hold my peace. Rein back."

It was the officer speaking now, and Fred checked his steed till Samson was nearly abreast of him again, when, after quite a dozen attempts to draw his young master into conversation, Samson muttered to himself, "In the grumps;" and rode on in silence too.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

A PETITION TO THE GENERAL.

It seemed to Fred Forrester a strange stroke of fate, when, after three days' slow and steady advance, feeling their way cautiously, as if at any hour they might meet the enemy, he rode with the advance to take possession of the Hall, for in spite of the colonel offering his own home again, the general kept to his decision that the Hall was the more suitable place for head-quarters.

The day was bright as one of those when, full of boyish spirits, he used to run over to spend the day with Scarlett Markham; and where was he now? A fugitive, perhaps; who could say where? And Sir Godfrey, where was he?

Fred felt very sad as he rode on, with the horses' hoofs trampling deeply into the soft green turf. But how beautiful it all seemed, with the rich red-brown stone of the old house contrasting so well with the green of the stately trees. The lake glistened like a sheet of silver in the sunshine, and all seemed familiar and welcome, and yet somehow as though connected with his life long, long ago, and as if it was impossible it could have been so short a time since he was a boy, and played about there.

"I hope the men will be careful," he found himself thinking; "and that every one will be respectful to Lady Markham."

He had not much time for thought after that, for the men were halted on the level grass land in front of the terrace garden, and he found himself one of the officers who, after an advance guard had ridden up to the front, and others had been despatched to form piquets surrounding the place, rode up in the train of the general.

To Fred's surprise, Lady Markham and her daughter came to the broad step in front of the entrance, and the general touched his horse's sides with the spurs, and rode up.

Fred was so near that he heard every word, and he bent forward, looking in vain for some token of recognition from the pale, careworn lady and her shrinking daughter, who received the general.

The latter saluted Lady Markham gravely.

"I regret to trouble you, madam," he said; "but we are compelled to take possession of your house for the present."

Lady Markham bowed coldly.

"We are at your mercy, sir," she said.

"Nonsense, madam!" cried the general, shortly. "You and the pretty young lady there by your side need not talk about mercy. The stern necessities of war bring us here, so all I have to say is, be good enough to reserve such apartments as you need for yourselves. You and your servants will be perfectly unmolested."

Lady Markham bowed once more.

"The housekeeper is here," she said, "and will provide all we have. We have no men-servants now, to show where the stables and granary lie."

"Pray don't trouble yourself about these matters, madam. My men will find what they want, and I dare say," he added sarcastically, "unless General Markham comes to look us up, and forces us to make more reprisals, we shall ride away, and you will find the Hall little the worse for our visit."

A sudden change came over Lady Markham at the mention of her husband's name, and after a few minutes' hesitation, she stepped out to stand with joined hands, looking supplicatingly at the general.

"My husband?" she said imploringly, "is—is he well?"

"You ask me a question I cannot answer, madam," said the general, taking off his morion, and speaking in a quiet sympathising voice. "But there is one of my young followers who may be able to give you some information."

He turned and made a sign to Fred, who touched his horse's flanks, and rode forward with a peculiar singing noise in his ears.

"You!" said Lady Markham, looking at the young officer in a startled manner, and then turning from him with a look of disgust, while he saw that Lil shivered.

"They look upon me as if I were some one who had been the cause of all this," he thought; but his countenance lightened directly, as Lady Markham turned to him again, and said gently—

"Forgive me, Fred. This meeting brought up the past. It seemed so terrible that my boy's companion should be among our enemies."

As she spoke, she held out her hand, which Fred seized and held for a few moments before he could speak, and when he did give utterance to his words, they were in a voice broken by emotion.

"I am not your enemy, Lady Markham," he said. "I would do anything to spare you pain. Lil, won't you shake hands?"

The girl hesitated for a few moments, and then held out her little hand timidly, but only to turn to her mother directly, and cling to her as she strove to keep back her sobs.

"Ask him—ask him," she whispered.

"Yes. Tell us, Fred—my poor boy," said Lady Markham, in a low voice, so as to be unheard by the soldiers close at hand. "Where is my husband?"

"The last I heard of him, Lady Markham, was that he was with the Cornish men beyond Plymouth. They are all on the king's side there."

"But was he safe and well?"

"Yes; quite safe and well, and Scarlett—"

"Yes; pray go on. I dared not ask, for fear of hearing bad news."

"I heard that he was quite well, too, and acting as his father's aide-de-camp."

"Thank Heaven!" sighed Lady Markham, piously. "It is so long since we had heard from them. Now I can feel more at rest."

She seemed to gain strength from the news; and after a pause she went on—

"Tell your leader," she said, "that I am grateful, for my child's sake. He has been most courteous. I did not expect this consideration."

"Oh, Lady Markham, I am sure that you have nothing to fear. The discipline is so strict among our men. They will only take food and shelter for a night or two. Any act of disorder would be punished."

Lady Markham drew a breath of relief.

"You are our enemy, Fred," she said softly, "and when we meet again, I shall not forget to tell my husband of the treatment we have received. There, Lilian and I will go to our room. You know the place by heart. See that everything is done for your officers' comfort. Let them learn that Sir Godfrey Markham can show hospitality, even to his foes."

She bowed stiffly, and, taking her daughter's hand, was withdrawing into the house, when Lil snatched her hand away, and stepped quickly to Fred's side.

"I hate you," she whispered. "You are dear father's and Scar's cruel enemy; but please, please, Fred, don't let them do us any harm."

"Don't be afraid, dreadful enemy," said Fred, smiling, as he saw the depth of his old playmate's hatred. "I'll do everything I can, Lil dear, for all your sakes. Good-bye, if I do not see you again."

She gave him a quick look, which seemed in an instant to bring up sunny days when he had swung her on the lawn, rowed on the lake, and climbed the apple-trees to get her fruit; and then she was gone, and he was listening to the trampling of horses, the shouting of orders, and he was called away.

Directly after, he was making use of his knowledge of the place to fulfil Lady Markham's wishes, and over these he worked the harder, because he felt that by hastening the production of the necessaries for the troops, much waste and destruction would be spared.

The result was that in less than an hour the Hall was occupied by the little force, which was in high good humour with its pleasant quarters, while sentries were put in different directions, and every precaution taken against surprise.

"Capital quarters, my boy," said the general, as he sat with his officers in the old oak dining-room; "and I wish your father was here to share them. But you have not taken care of yourself in all this business."

"Oh, I have snatched a little food, sir," replied Fred. "I'm not hungry, but—"

"Well, what is it? Speak out. What do you want?"

Fred hesitated for a moment, as if collecting himself.

"You know that the Manor is only two miles from here, sir?"

"Eh? So near. No; I knew it was somewhere about this part," said the general, smiling. "Oh, I see, my boy. Well, it's quite right, but risky. And besides, we may stay here a week or we may stay a minute. How do I know how soon the enemy may rout us out? No, Fred, my boy, love must give way to duty. I cannot spare my young officer, even to go and see his mother, much as I should like to say 'Yes.'"

"You mistake me, sir," said Fred, colouring a little. "I would not have asked leave at this busy time for that."

"Then what do you want, my boy?"

"Lady Markham and her daughter, sir. This is no place for them."

"Humph! No. But we have no time for paying attentions to ladies."

"No, sir; but what I want to do is a little thing. We may stay here some time, and other troops join us."

"Yes, I am expecting reinforcements. What do you want to do?"

"As this may be quite a rendezvous for some time, to get them away."

"I cannot undertake such duties, my boy; but Lady Markham and her daughter are free to go anywhere."

"Thank you, sir. That is what I want; but the only asylum for them is our old home, and they would not go there unasked."

"Well, ask them."

"It would be of no use."

"My good lad, I am tired out. I want to snatch a few hours' sleep. What is it you want?"

"I want to take half a dozen men to ride over and fetch my mother here. They were once dear friends, and if my mother came, she could persuade Lady Markham, for her child's sake, to go back with her."

The general sat frowning for a few minutes, during which he poured out a little wine in a long Venice glass, filled up with water, and drank.

"Yes," he said in a quiet, decided voice, as he set down his glass, "take a sergeant and half a dozen—no, a dozen men, ride over and do the business as quickly as you can, so that the men and their horses may get back and rest. It means a double journey, you see. No; no thanks. Despatch!"

Fred looked his thanks, and retired with the promptness loved by his leader; and a very short time later, just as the turret clock was striking ten, he rode out with his little detachment, being challenged again and again by the mounted sentries placed along the road which skirted the west end of the lake.

"Only think of it, Master Fred," whispered Sergeant Samson Dee, as they rode slowly along beneath the light of the stars—"going home in this way. What will the mistress say?"

They were not long in hearing.

As they rode over the familiar ground, Samson was very silent, for he was thinking of the old garden, while Fred felt a swelling sensation at his breast as every object so well-known peered cut of the surrounding darkness. There was the pond in which Dodder took refuge one day after he had broken out of the field to escape capture, and there stuck so tightly in the mud that cart ropes had to be thrown over him, and he was dragged out looking the most drenched and deplorable object possible.

There, looming up under the stars, was the great hollow elm where the owls regularly bred and slept all day. Another minute, and the horses' hoofs were slashing up the babbling water of the stream which crossed the road—the tiny river where they had so often waded after trout and stone loaches.

There at last, calm and still in the starlight, lay the Manor, and the young officer felt a wild kind of joy, which he had to fight down, lest he should seem childish before his followers, for the impulse of the moment was to leap from the horse and rush through the garden, over the lawn, and up to the doorway, shouting for joy.

But discipline, the desire to seem manly, and a strange feeling of dread kept him calm and stern beyond his years, the feeling of dread soon dominating the other sensations. For how could he tell but that a party of the enemy had ridden up to his dear old home, as they had that evening ridden up to Scarlett's, and were perhaps behaving with far less consideration than they had shown? and how did he know that his old habitation was not a ruin, and his mother a wanderer far away.

A curious dimness came over his sight at these terrible thoughts, and he felt as if he were going to fall from his horse. His old injuries throbbed and stung, and it seemed to him that his fears were correct, for the old Manor did not look as it should be. Surely the windows were all bare of glass, the great chimney stack was down, and the ivy which clothed the front torn away and scorched by fire.

The giddy sensation increased, and he involuntarily clutched the pommel of his saddle as he bent forward, staring wildly at the dear old place, when he was suddenly brought to himself by the voice of Samson, who said aloud—

"All fast asleep. Oh, Master Fred, I wonder how my dear old garden looks."

The misty, giddy sensation had gone, and in a firm voice Fred cried, "Halt!"

For there before him, dimly seen in the starlight, lay the old Manor, quite unscathed, for the tide of war had not yet swept over that part of the pleasant land.

Fred dismounted, passed through the little oaken gate, and walking up the path, was about to rap at the door with the hilt of his sword.

But the trampling of horses and a loud neigh like a challenge had awakened those within. A well-known casement was opened, and a familiar voice exclaimed—

"Who's there?"

"Mother!" whispered Fred, hoarsely.

There was a cry of joy from the open window; then a clicking noise of flint and steel, a light gleamed blue and faint on the ivy leaves which framed the casement; then a brighter light, and in a few minutes the lower windows were illumined; there was the sound of the bolts being shot, and directly after Fred was in the little hall, clasped in his mother's arms.

"My boy!" she whispered in a deep voice. Then, in a quick, agitated manner, "Your father?"

"Safe and well, mother."

"And you have come to stay? Thank God, thank God."

"No, not to stay," he cried earnestly, "but to ask you to perform a duty, an act of kindness towards—"

"Some wounded men? Yes, yes, my boy; bring the poor fellows in."

"No, no, mother, not towards men," said Fred, holding her tightly to his side, "to one who was once your dearest friend—to her and her child."

"Lady Markham? Oh, Fred, my boy, they are still dear to me, though this terrible war keeps us apart. But they are there. Oh, why do you stop? Bring them in at once."

"No, no, dearest mother, you are too hasty," whispered Fred. "They are at their own place. But it is taken by our troops. It is to be a little camp for us, perhaps for weeks. It is no place for them. General Hedley consents, and I want you to come and fetch them here."

"Yes, yes, my boy; but Lady Markham would not leave her home."

"Yes, she will, at your persuasion, mother. You must come at once."

Mistress Forrester drew a long breath, stifled a sob, and said firmly—

"I will be ready in a few minutes."

"Shall I saddle Dodder, mistress, or will you ride pillion behind the captain?" said a gruff voice at the door.

"Ah, Samson, my good, true lad," cried Mistress Forrester, "I am glad to hear your voice again."

She ran forward, and held out her hand.

"And it's like the sweet music of the birds to hear yours, mistress," said the rough fellow, kissing the extended hand.

"Quick, my boy!" whispered Mistress Forrester. "Give your men refreshment. Saddle the pony, Samson. I will soon be down."

She ran to the staircase, and Samson tramped off to the old stable, thrust his hand in the thatch over the door, where, to use his expression, "the key always laid," and a neigh of recognition greeted him as soon as he spoke.

In five minutes he was leading the pony round to the gate, where he was in time to find a huge black jack of cider being passed round with horns to the men, one of the maids having hastily dressed and come down.

Directly after, in her dark riding-habit and hat, Mistress Forrester was at the door, was helped into the saddle by her son, and the little cavalcade was on its way back through the dark lanes, and over the stretch of moor.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

HOW SCARLETT VISITED HIS MOTHER.

"Oh, mother darling, how shocking it all seems!" said Lil, after a long burst of weeping, as she knelt by her mother in the darkness of their own chamber that dreary night.

"Yes, yes, my child; but we must be patient and wait."

"But it seems so terrible. These men here—our dear old home full of soldiers, and poor father and Scar—"

"Hush, hush, my darling!" whispered Lady Markham. "You do not know what pain you are giving me. Heaven's will be done, my child. Let us pray for the safety of those we love."

She softly sank upon her knees beside her child in the darkness of the sombre chamber, and through a broken casement the bright starlight shone down, shedding sufficient lustre to show the two upturned faces with their closed eyes.

The trampling and bustle had gradually died out. The loud orders and buzz of talking had ceased by degrees, and now the silence of the night was only broken by the impatient stamp of a horse, the regular tramp of armed sentries, and from time to time a low firm challenge.

Some time before Lady Markham's attention had been drawn by Lil to the gathering of a little detachment of horsemen, and she had recognised the voice of him who gave the order to advance, while from the open window, themselves unseen, they had watched the faint gleam of the men's breastplates, as they rode down the avenue, to be seen afterwards like a faint moving shadow on the banks of the lake before they disappeared.

Then all was still. The frightened servants had gathered, as it were, under the wings of their mistress, and two of them were occupying the inner room—Lil's, and had sobbed themselves to sleep.

"But you will not go to bed, mother?" Lil had whispered.

"No, my child; I will sit up, and watch by you."

"But I could not sleep, mother," said Lil; and the result was that they were keeping vigil, and sank at last in prayer for those in danger far away.

How still it all seemed as Lady Markham rose from her knees at last, and went with Lil to the open window, where they seated themselves to look out at the darkened landscape, and the faint glimmer of the star reflections in the lake.

They felt calm now and refreshed, but neither spoke. It was as if they were unconsciously waiting for something—they knew not what, but something that was to happen before long—and in which they were to play some part.

Tramp, tramp! tramp, tramp! on the terrace; and tramp, tramp the sentry, whose post was from the porch right into the great oaken-panelled hall and back.

The weary troopers were asleep, and the stillness of the old west-country home was oppressive, not a sound coming now from the undulating moorland stretching to the sea. For there is a grand solemnity at such times in the wild open country, away from busy towns, and when the sentry by the porch let his thoughts stray back to the days of peace, and some merry-making in the village from which he came, and began to hum gently to himself the air of an old ballad, it sounded so strange that he stopped short, shifted his heavy gun, and continued his tramp in silence.

He had just reached the front of the great stone porch, and was gazing out across the park, and then to right and left, before turning to resume his march right up the hall to the back, when—

C-r-r-rack!

The man turned sharply, brought his clumsy piece to the present, and stood listening and gazing before him into the dark hall.

Not another sound.

Should he fire and give the alarm?

What for? It was not likely that danger would come from within. It could not. The place was too well guarded on all sides. Besides, if he fired and gave an alarm that turned out to be false, there would be a severe reprimand from the officers, and a long course of ridicule and annoyance from the men.

Shifting his piece once more, the sentry stood listening for a few minutes, and then drawing his sword, he walked boldly into the dark hall, looking to right and left, then along all the sides, and ended by standing at the foot of the stairs, gazing up at the gallery which crossed the end, and went right and left into the two wings of the great house, where the rooms were occupied by the officers and men.

"Wonder whether one of the officers did that to see if I was on the look-out?" thought the man. "If he did, and he only came within reach, I'd let him see that I'm wideawake."

He stood, with his sword drawn, looking up that staircase for quite five minutes, but there was not a sound, and gloomy as the hall was by day, with its narrow stained-glass windows, it was almost blackness itself by night.

"Something must have fallen," thought the sentry at last, as he recalled seeing, by a light carried by one of the officers as he went upstairs, that the walls were ornamented with trophies of old weapons.

"Yes; something must have tumbled down," he said again, as he returned his sword to its sheath, changed his piece to its old position, and faced round and marched toward the door.

As he did so, something—not the something which the sentry said had fallen down, but another something which had lain at full length in the top stair but one—moved gently. There was a faint gliding sound, and then perfect stillness, as the sentry marched in again right to the foot of the stairs and listened.

He turned, walked right round the hall, and out once more to the front of the porch, while something long and soft seemed in the darkness to rise out of the top stair but one, as from a long box, on to the stair below.

The sentry marched in again, slowly and steadily, right to the end of the hall, and back to the front of the porch; and as he went the gliding sound was heard again, followed during the next march back by a very faint crack, and then for quite five minutes the long, soft-looking figure lay on the stair motionless.

Then, when the sentry was tramping along the porch, the figure gave a quick writhe and lay still a step higher.

Again, when the sentry was his farthest, there was another writhe, and the figure was on the top of the stairs, to roll by degrees gently over and over across the landing, and lie close to the panelled wall. Then began a slow crawling motion as if some hugely thick short serpent were creeping along the polished oaken boards almost without a sound, till the end of the gallery was reached. Then all was still but the regular tramp of the sentry, who told himself that he had done wisely in not giving the alarm.

Not the first man who has congratulated himself upon making a great mistake.

Meanwhile, Lady Markham was seated at the window, with Lil's hand clasped in hers, waiting, as it were, for that something which seemed as if it would happen. No great wonder, at a time when change succeeded change with marvellous rapidity. They had neither of them spoke for some time, till suddenly Lil pressed her mother's hand.

"What is it, dear?"

"Listen!"

Lady Markham bent forward, and remained silent for some minutes before saying—

"I heard nothing, Lil."

"I thought I heard horses a long way off. Oh!"

She started violently, for there was a sharp, but faint tap on the panel of the door, as if some one had sharply loosened one finger-nail with the other.

Neither stirred for a few moments, and then the sharp cracking sound was repeated.

Lady Markham did not hesitate, but walked across to the door.

"Who is there?" she said in a low, firm voice.

There was a faint rustle, as of some one moving a hand over the door outside, and then from low down came a low—

"Hist!"

It was from the keyhole without a doubt, and stooping, Lady Markham repeated her question, placing her ear close to the keyhole, as she listened for the answer.

That reply sent the blood thrilling through her veins, as it was whispered through the keyhole, and for the moment, she felt giddy with anguish, love, and fear.

It came again, with an addition.

"Mother! Open! Quick!"

With her hands trembling so that they almost refused their office, she turned the key, felt a strong grasp on the handle, the door was thrust open softly, closed, and locked, as she stood trembling there, and a pair of arms were clasped around her neck.

"Mother, dearest mother!"

"Scar, dear Scar, me too," whispered Lil, for Lady Markham was speechless with emotion.

Brother and sister were locked in a loving embrace, and then Lil shrank away.

"Scar," she whispered; "why you are all wet."

"Yes," he said, with a half-laugh. "I had to swim across part of the lake."

"Oh, my boy, my boy, how did you get here?" whispered Lady Markham.

"Oh, I found a way, mother dear."

"But your father? Oh! There is no bad news?"

"No, no; don't tremble so. He is quite well, and not many miles away."

"Thank Heaven!" she sighed; "but, Scar, my darling, you do not know."

"Oh yes, I do, dear," he said calmly; "the house is full of rebels, and they have their outposts everywhere. I have had a fine task to get here without being seen."

"And you must not stay a moment, my darling. You must escape before you are discovered."

"Hush! don't speak so loudly; we may be heard. There is no danger, if you keep still."

"But, Scar, my boy, why have you run this terrible risk?"

"Soldiers have to run risks, mother. My father, who is at Ditton, with a strong body of horse, was terribly anxious about home. A spy came in and said the rebels were in this direction, so I said I could make my way here and get news, and he trusted me to come. That's all."

"But if you are taken, Scar?"

"I don't mean to be taken, mother. I shall go back as I came. Rebel sentinels are clever, but some people can manage to elude them."

"Oh, my boy, my boy!"

"Don't—don't fidget, dear, like that. I tell you there is no risk. But I must not stay long."

"Are you sure no one saw you come?"

"Quite certain. But I am sorry that I have such poor news to lake back. But, mother dear, they have treated you with respect?"

"Oh yes, my boy. Fred Forrester's with them."

"Ah!" ejaculated Scarlett, angrily.

"And he has been most respectful and kind."

"For a traitor."

"Do not speak harshly of him, Scar."

"Not I; but have they sacked the place?"

"No, no. Nothing has been touched."

"I'm glad of that, for poor father's sake. He will be enraged when he knows they have taken possession here."

"But he is in no danger, Scar?"

"Not more than usual," said Scarlett, grimly.

"And when is he coming home?" said Lil, thoughtfully.

"Coming home, Lil! Ah, who can say that? Well, I must soon be going. If I stay, it is to be taken prisoner."

"My darling!"

"Hush, mother! the sentries may hear you speak. They are all around."

"I will be careful, dear," she whispered. "Then you must go? So soon?"

"Yes; and it is bad news to take to my father, but he will not care when he hears that you are safe and well. What's that?"

He ran softly to the window, and they realised that he was barefooted, and only dressed in light breeches and shirt.

There was the sound of a challenge, a reply, and then the trampling of horses came through the open casement.

Lady Markham seized her son's hand as he stood listening at the deep mullioned window, while Lil clung to the other.

"A fresh detachment joined, I suppose," whispered Scarlett, as he drew back. "Perhaps I had better wait half an hour before I go back."

"Oh, Scar, Scar!" half sobbed Lil.

"And you so cold and wet, my darling," sighed Lady Markham.

"Pish! what of that. I don't mind. I would not go so soon, for it is quite delightful to be with you again, but I must be right away before it's light, and one never knows how far one may have to go round to escape notice from the enemy's men. They seem to swarm about here, mother."

Lady Markham could say nothing, only kiss and embrace her boy, torn as she was by conflicting emotions—the desire to keep him, and that of wishing him safe away.

All at once, Scar started from his mother's encircling arm, and darted to the window, but only to draw back, for there were two sentinels talking just beneath.

Then he ran to the door, but drew back, for steps of armed men were heard coming along the corridor, and escape was cut off there.

"Caught," he said grimly. "Poor father will not get his news."

At that moment there was the sharp summons of a set of knuckles on the door.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

HOW LADY MARKHAM LEFT THE HALL.

"Hist!" whispered Lady Markham, in her agitation snatching at the first straw that offered. "They may think we are asleep, and will go away."

Vain hope; there was another sharp rapping at the door.

"Answer," said Scarlett, in a low, firm voice. "Hear what they have to say."

"Who is there?"

"I, Fred Forrester, Lady Markham. Have the goodness to open."

"The traitor!" muttered Scar, glancing once more at the window, but the sounds from without told him that attempt to escape there was vain, for, if he dropped from the sill, the chances were that he would hurt himself, and even if he succeeded in reaching the ground unharmed, the alarm would be given by the sentinels, who would fire at him, and if they missed, there was a detachment of horse waiting to ride him down, for the steeds were stamping impatiently, and uttering a loud snort from time to time.

"Why am I disturbed at this time of the night?" said Lady Markham, trying to speak firmly and haughtily.

"I am sorry to have you disturbed, Lady Markham; but there is good reason. My mother is here."

"A ruse," said Scarlett, softly. "Never mind, dear. It is not the first time I have been a prisoner. It is madness to try to escape. I surrender."

"No, no," whispered Lady Markham. "You shall not." Then aloud. "I refuse to open my door at this time of night."

"Lady Markham, will you admit me alone to speak with you?" came now from outside.

"Hist!" whispered Scarlett. "They do not know I'm here. Open the door. It will be best."

As soon as he had spoken, he ran toward the great bedstead, but came back and whispered quickly—

"Open, dear mother, and try to invent some plan to get them all away from this room. Then I can easily escape. Quick. Open."

He darted to the bedstead, and drew one of the head curtains round him; while driven, as it were, to obey the stronger will of her son, urged, too, by his words about escape, Lady Markham went to the door, opened it, and Mistress Forrester stepped in, to pause for a moment, then, forgetful of everything but their old friendship in the happy days, she threw her arms about the trembling woman, and kissed her passionately.

"I have come to fetch you and dear Lilian," she said, "at my son's wish. He has obtained permission from the general, and horses are waiting. You are to come at once."

"Come—leave my husband's house?"

"Hush! do not oppose the plan," said Mistress Forrester, gently. "This is no longer a place for you. Perhaps for some time to come it may be the retreat of rough soldiery. My home is so near, and you will beat peace."

"I cannot leave my husband's home," said Lady Markham, firmly.

"You must," said her visitor. "It is for Lilian's sake as well as your own."

For Lilian's sake? Yes, and it was for Scarlett's sake. For what had he said? Get them away from this room, and he could escape. How or when she had no idea. All she knew was that he had said decidedly that he could, and she must believe him.

"Ah, you are hesitating!" said Mistress Forrester, tenderly. "You are thinking of enemies. What is this warfare to us? We are mothers, and our duty is toward our children. Say that you will come and stay with me in peace till better times are here."

Lady Markham hesitated no longer. It was a way of escape for her son, and protection for herself and daughter. Besides which, the old sisterly affection was as warm as ever.

"He would tell me to go, if he were here," she said to herself. "It is to save my boy;" and without another word she laid her hand in her visitor's.

Mistress Forrester kissed her eagerly, embraced Lilian, who stood there trembling and cold, and then ran to the door.

"Fred, my boy," she said quickly; "have all ready. Lady Markham will come."

There was the first sense of relief to the trembling mother's overladen heart as she heard the tramp of men in the corridor, and she glanced quickly toward the curtains which concealed her son.

"It will leave the way open for his escape," she said to herself. Then to Mistress Forrester, as she pointed at the farther door—

"Two of the servants who have remained with me through the troubles are there," she said.

"And they will accompany us, of course," said her visitor. "Will you tell them to get ready?"

"If you would not mind," said Lady Markham, appealingly; and without further parley Mistress Forrester crossed the room, tapped lightly, and passed through the door, while Lady Markham darted to the curtain and seized her son by the arm.

"Am I doing right?" she whispered.

"Quite, dearest mother," he replied in so low a tone that she could hardly hear. "Some day perhaps Fred and I may be friends again."

"Then I am to go?"

"Yes; it will give me a chance to escape."

"They are dressed and ready," said Mistress Forrester, returning. "Poor things, they have not been to bed."

At that moment there was another tap at the door, and upon its being opened, Fred was standing there.

"The horses are ready," he said quietly. "I have had your pony saddled, Lilian. Lady Markham, the two servants will have to ride pillion behind a couple of our men."

For answer Lady Markham drew her hood over her head, and assisted Lilian, who was ready to burst into a fit of hysterical sobbing; and in fear lest she should betray her brother's whereabouts, her mother hurried her to the door, but stopped to see all out before her, leaving last, and taking the precaution to slip the key from the lock, lest some one should come and her son should find it fast.

Ten minutes later, Scarlett Markham stood at the window listening to the setting off of the little party, with his head well hidden behind the curtain, and remained motionless till the trampling of the horses died away in the silence of the night.

"Ah," he said to himself, "nothing could have happened better, as the enemy is in possession. Poor mother! Poor Lil! What a pang to have to leave the dear old home; but they will be away from the tumult and bloodshed if the rebels stand. Now for my news, if I can carry it without being caught."



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

SCARLETT ESCAPES UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

"Ugh! it's cold," said Scarlett, as he moved away from the window in his mother's chamber, and gave one look round in the gloom at the familiar old place, associated with his childhood and boyish life before he was forced into this premature manhood by the exigencies of the war. "But never mind; I shall soon be warm enough—hot enough, if I am seen and pursued."

He tightened the belt he wore, and drew a long breath, as if about to start running. Then crossing the room softly, he opened the door, meaning, as his mission was at an end, to make a bold quick rush for the secret stair, to open the slide and pass in. If he made a little noise there, the sentry might hear it and welcome, he would discover nothing.

A sudden thought struck him.

"Capital!" he said to himself, joyously. "Fifty men quietly introduced by the secret passage, and led right into the house. Why, we could surprise them all asleep, and the place would be taken without loss of life. What a result to an accidental discovery!"

Then a damping thought occurred.

"No," he muttered; "Fred will have remembered it, and made all safe. Perhaps let us get in, and trap us. He is too clever to leave that place open. He has not had time to secure it yet. What a pity we two are on opposite sides!"

As he thought this, he involuntarily raised his hand to his shortly cut hair, and a look of vexation crossed his face.

"Forward!" he muttered, as if giving an order, and to put an end to his musings; and at the word he was in the act of passing through the doorway, and had taken a step into the corridor when there was a sharp challenge from the sentry down in the hall. But the password was given, and by the sounds it seemed to Scarlett that two armed men had begun to ascend the stairs.

Yes, undoubtedly two, for one said something lightly, and he caught the reply.

"We'll soon see about that."

The words were in a subdued tone of voice, and passing back into the room, Scarlett drew the door after him, leaving a mere crack, so that he could listen.

"Officers going to their quarters," he thought. "I wonder which room they occupy."

He listened, and they reached the top of the stairs, turning to the left, a movement which brought them towards him.

He would have closed the door entirely, but dreading a noise that might betray him, he left it ajar, and stood waiting for them to pass, but only to flush crimson with indignation as a sudden thought struck him in answer to his wondering question.

"They would not dare!" he ejaculated in an angry whisper; and he turned to flee into the farther room, where the servants had been, and where as a rule his sister slept. But as he moved towards it quickly, it occurred to him that there were no such voluminous curtains for hiding behind, and, quick as thought, he darted to his old place of concealment, only just having time to throw the heavy hangings round him as the door was thrust back, and two men strode into the room.

"The cowardly, plundering villains!" muttered Scarlett, and his hands involuntarily clenched, and he felt ready to rush out and face these nocturnal marauders, but he checked the desire.

"Poor mother!" he sighed; "she would not value every jewel she possesses as a featherweight against my safety. They must go, I suppose; but oh, what a delight to make the rogues disgorge!"

"Plaguey dark," said one of the new-comers. "Light enough for what we want to do, my lad. Shut and fasten the door. We don't want any one to share our bit of luck."

"No. Just enough for two. It may be weeks before we get such another chance."

They were evidently well-to-do men, by their conversation, probably officers; and Scarlett bit his lip with rage as he thought of his mother's watch and chain, and the beautiful set of pearls, his father's present to her in happier days. Then, too, there was a case with rings and brooches, beside many other elegant little trifles that would be welcome to a plunderer.

Once more the desire to rush out and face these wretches was strong upon him, but a moment's reflection told him that to do so was to surrender himself a prisoner, and place himself beyond the power of giving valuable information to the general, his father, who might unwittingly come on to his old home and walk into a trap.

"Better lose a thousand times as many jewels," he muttered, "than that. Let them steal, for I suppose my poor mother would not have placed her treasures in a place of safety." He listened breathlessly behind the thick curtain, hoping that the plunderers would be quick and leave, and give him the opportunity to escape.

The chance came more quickly than he had anticipated, for it seemed from the footsteps that the men had gone into the inner chamber, leaving him free to slip out.

His hand was upon the thick fold of the curtain, for all was still in his mother's room, and he was mentally going on tiptoe to the door, when there was a loud yawn from the prie dieu chair close to the bed's head, and a voice almost at his elbow said—

"Well, what's it like?"

"Can't see much; but it seems a cosy little nest, as soft as can be."

"Which will you have, that or this?"

"Oh, I'll stop here," was the reply.

"Then may the trumpeter forget to blow for twenty-four hours," said the voice at Scarlett's elbow, "and the enemy never know that we are here."

"Amen!" came from the further room.

"And, I say," exclaimed Scarlett's neighbour, as he seemed to be moving about vigorously.

"Yes."

"Don't disturb anything. Poor ladies! it's like sacrilege to take possession here; but when there's a soft bed on one side and some straw on the boards of a loft on the other, one falls into temptation."

Clump went a heavy boot on the thick rug, and then another.

"Yes. Goodnight. Don't talk any more," came from the inner room.

"Not I," said Scarlett's neighbour; and there was the sound of a sword-belt being unbuckled, and the weapon laid across a table.

Then, as Scarlett stood there, hot and indignant, he heard the soft sound of stockinged feet crossing the room, and directly after a faint rattle at the door, followed by an angry exclamation, and then by a loud rumbling noise.

"What are you doing?" came from Lil's chamber.

"Pushing something against the door—big table. There's no key."

"Oh!"

The table seemed to be followed by something else heavy, and directly after the occupant of the room crossed to the bed, and it seemed to Scarlett that he threw himself upon his knees for a few minutes.

Then he rose, sighed, and yawned.

"Oh, for dear old home again, and peace," he muttered, and threw himself, all dressed as he was, upon the bed.

"By your leave, Dame Markham," he muttered again, with a sigh of satisfaction. "If you knew how dog-tired this poor soldier is, you would forgive me. Hah!"

There was a long deep sigh, and as Scarlett stood there so closely that he could have laid his hand upon his enemy's head, he felt that he was completely trapped, and that perhaps even to move was to ensure capture.

"What shall I do?" he asked himself. "It will be getting toward morning soon;" and now the necessity for escaping at once seemed ten thousand times more clear.

"He will come in search of me, for he will never think that the enemy can be at the Hall, or if he does, he will come to try and save me, thinking I am a prisoner, and there will be a battle here."

As he listened, trying hard to stifle his breathing and the throbbings of his heart, which sounded so loud that he felt sure he would be heard, the Parliamentary officer turned uneasily upon his bed, muttered something about home, and then his breathing became regular and deep.

When Scarlett had started upon his expedition to see if the enemy were near, and finding that they had taken possession of the Hall, determined to make use of the secret passage and see how his mother fared, he knew that everything depended upon quickness of movement, and that fighting would be of no avail. So he had stripped off buff jerkin and gorget, and placed them, his weapons, cavalier hat, and heavy horseman's boots in the wood where he had secured his horse. Hence he was absolutely defenceless.

He thought of this as he for a moment dwelt upon the possibility of slaying this man as he slept, and so escaping.

But he indignantly thrust from him the treacherous thought, and trusting to the possibility of getting away when his enemy should be sound asleep, he gradually let the curtain fall to his feet.

In the silence of that room the noise made as the thick material rustled down, seemed to Scarlett to be enough to awaken the sleeper, but he did not stir; and after wailing a few minutes, which seemed like an hour, the young Royalist began to move gently from his hiding-place.

The distance he had to traverse was very short, but there was a great difficulty awaiting him—the removal of the table and the other object placed against the door. But the sleeper was sound enough now, and Scarlett's hopes began to rise as, with outstretched hands, he softly touched the stand upon which lay the sword, and then his heart's pulsations seemed to stop, for he kicked against one of the heavy jack-boots in the darkness, and the great stiff leather foot and leg covering fell over with what seemed quite a loud noise, while to his horror Scarlett learned that the door between the rooms was open, so plainly sounded the other officer's voice.

"Anything the matter?" he said; and there was the rustling sound of one rising upon his elbow.

It was the saving instinct of the moment, and it had its intended effect, the boldness of the conception carrying all before it. For, as the officer in his sister's room asked that question, Scarlett covered his face with his hand, and uttered a deep yawn, like that of a half-sleeping man.

For a moment or two he dreaded lest he had betrayed himself, but to his intense delight, as he stood with every sense on the strain, he heard the questioner subside in his place, and Scarlett, with a quick appreciation of his difficulties, seized the opportunity of the man's movement to cover the sound he made as he glided quickly across the room to the door, laid his hand upon the table, and recognised it by the touch as the one which generally stood in the great embayment of the window.

But, just as he touched the heavy carved side, he broke out into a cold perspiration, for there came in a sharp, short, imperious tone—

"Halt!"

"He was not asleep," thought Scarlett; and in an instant he had seized the table to drag it away, when a loud sound from the adjoining chamber made him drop down on his hands and knees, in the expectation of a bullet from a petronel.

The sound he had heard was that of a man leaping from his bed. Then there were the dull soft steps of stockinged feet, and he could hear the second officer enter the room.

"What's the matter?" he said, as he advanced toward the bed where his companion lay.

"Left troop to the front!" came from the bed.

"Poor old fellow!" muttered the second officer. "He cannot even keep this weary work out of his sleep."

Scarlett heard him walk back to the inner room, and as soon as he felt that the door was passed, he began to feel for the second obstacle between him and liberty.

For a few moments he could not make out what it was. He tried softly to left and right, but there was nothing. All he could detect was that the end of the long table was against the door, and then as he rose and stretched his hand across it, he discovered at once what it was—nothing but a heavy oaken chest, which had been lifted up and stood upon the table, to give it weight.

Meanwhile, he could hear every movement of the occupant of the inner chamber, and a dull feeling of despair came upon him, as he knew that to attempt to stir the table, heavily laden as it was, would make so much noise that he would be detected.

"But could I get through in time to reach the stair?" he thought.

Impossible! He would be heard by the officer, and probably by the sentinel in the hall, and with his heart sinking, he determined to make for the window, and drop down from there.

The casement was still open, and crossing softly, he cautiously looked out, to find that a couple of sentinels were marching to and fro to meet every minute just beneath the spot where he stood.

"No," he said to himself, "there is but one road;" and going back to the table, he nerved himself for the effort, and began to draw it softly away by almost imperceptible degrees.

Fortunately for him, the floor by the door was covered by a thick rug, over which the table began to move; but, to Scarlett's horror, it had not passed a couple of inches before there was a sharp crack.

An impatient movement came from the far room, and Scarlett knew as well as if he were present in the broad daylight, that the officer had started up and was listening; but, fortunately at that moment, the heavy sleeper said something aloud and stirred upon the bed.

This was sufficient to satisfy his companion, who lay down again. But it was impossible to attempt more for a time, and the would-be fugitive was forced to crouch there, letting the valuable moments fly, and fretting, as he knew how impossible it would be for him to escape if he waited till day.

At last, with the feeling of despair upon him strongly, he seized the table again, and, lifting one end, drew it slowly towards him, this time finding, to his great delight, that the rug glided with it over the oaken boards, so that he knew that with a little more effort, the obstacle would be sufficiently far away for him to open the door.

Had it been light, he would have seen the danger, but, all he realised was that the table came along more and more easily, and then in the black darkness there was a loud crash, the coffer placed upon the table had, consequent upon its being inclined, glided slowly over the polished surface, till it was right beyond the edge, and then it was but a matter of moments before it overbalanced and fell.

Scarlett heard two loud ejaculations and the leaping of his enemies from their beds; but, quick as thought, he had dragged the door open, bounded into the corridor, and ran to the left to the top of the stairs.

He was in the act of seizing the balustrade, when shouts came from the door he had left. Worse still, he saw a faint spark of light below him, and heard the challenge of the sentry in the hall.

To have tried to escape by the passage would have meant the discovery of the way, for there was not time to get the stair open, so without hesitation, as he heard the alarm spreading, he dashed down the stairs, followed by the shouts of the two officers as other doors were opened, and the noise of gathering feet could be heard.

There was a sharp flash, a loud report, and Scarlett heard the thud in the wainscot beside him as he leaped the last half-dozen stairs, right on to the sentinel, who was driven backward by the force of the blow, while Scarlett darted across the hall, through the porch, and between two of the men stationed outside so closely that they touched him.

"Fire, fire!" roared a voice from the gallery, and matches were blown, and shots went whizzing after the fugitive, who was hard followed by half a dozen of the heavily armed men.

But the darkness held good, and Scarlett had the advantage of knowing every inch of the ground, every bush and clump which could give him shelter; and besides, he was dressed for running, his pursuers being heavily hindered by their thick garments, steel protections, and heavy boots.

Still the pursuit was kept up, and the piquets round, alarmed by the sounds of firing, began to close in.

It was a desperate game to play, but Scarlett played it. He made straight for the lake, and kept as near to its bank as he could for the overhanging trees, till he neared the eastern end, where, with the shouts of his pursuers ringing in his ears, he slowly lowered himself down by the steep rocky bank, stepped silently into the clear water, which looked terribly black and treacherous, waded out a short distance, with the water rapidly rising to his chest, then to his chin, and began swimming as easily as an otter for the opposite side.

It was a cold plunge, but Scarlett did not notice it in his excitement. His mind was too much taken up with endeavouring to swim steadily and quietly, so as not to betray his whereabouts by a splash.

As he swam, he could see lights moving about in the Hall, and he could tell by the shouts that his pursuers were not very far distant, while soon after he began to realise, with a profound feeling of satisfaction, that the men and their leaders had come to the conclusion that they had only to form a line across from the house down to the shore in two places to succeed in capturing him, for the lake would be an effectual bar to his escape in that direction.

"And all the time this is the high-road to freedom," Scarlett said to himself, as he swam on, thinking of how long it would take him to reach the further side, and reaping now the advantage of having acquired an accomplishment in his earlier days, whose value he little appreciated then.

The distance seemed greater than he had reckoned upon, and he had not been in the water for a long time before that night, the consequence being that after he had been swimming about ten minutes, a peculiar weary sensation began to make itself felt in his arms, and a strange aching at the nape of his neck, as if he had been forcing his head too far back so as to enable him to keep his lips and nostrils above the surface.

Then, too, he became aware that swimming without clothes was one thing, with them clinging to his limbs another; and the thought occurred to him, as unpleasant thoughts will, just when they are not wanted, that it was somewhere out here he and Fred Forrester had lowered down a weight at the end of a piece of twine, to find in one spot it was twenty feet, in another twenty-five; but all over this eastern end there was a great depth of water.

It was impossible after that to help thinking about people losing their lives. A boy had once been drowned out there through trying to cross the ice before it was sufficiently strong, and—

A curious hysterical sensation attacked Scarlett Markham just then, and for a few moments, unnerved by the excitement of the evening, he began to strike out more quickly, under the mistaken notion that he would reach the opposite side much sooner; but the fatigue of the effort warned him that he was doing wrong, and growing calmer, he turned over on his back to float for a few minutes, while he diverted his thoughts from his position by forcing himself to think about his pursuers, whom he could hear plainly enough calling and answering each other.

Then once more the thought forced itself upon him that it was terribly deep down below, that he was growing utterly exhausted, and that if he sank and was drowned, no one had seen him enter the water, and his father—his mother—

"Oh, am I such a coward as this!" he muttered angrily. "After being in battle and skirmish, and hearing the cannons roar, I will swim across."

He turned, and will did what will often does, gives to those who are determined powers that others do not seem to possess; and so it came that the rest of the task grew comparatively easy, the bank which in the gloom had seemed to be so distant suddenly loomed over him, with the pendent branches of the birches within easy reach, and a few moments later he was ashore, had climbed the bank, paused to look back, and then started off at an easy run, with the load of water he carried becoming lighter at every step.

Later on, mounted men came round both ends of the lake, and began to search on the further side, but by this time the fugitive was well on toward where he had left his horse and arms, and his dangers lay in front, and not behind.

Long before all this, Lady Markham had arrived at the Manor, with Lil weeping silently at her side. There had been a brief and formal leave-taking, a quick embrace from his mother, and Fred rode back with his detachment, to reach the Hall, take possession of the quarters assigned to him, and after thinking deeply of the events of the night, he dropped asleep. He was aroused by the noise, and heard that the sentinels had fired upon an escaping figure, which had endeavoured to break into the room occupied by two of the officers.

There were those who said it was an attempt at assassination, and others that it was a false alarm, which the ill success of the search-party seemed to confirm.

Then fresh sentinels were posted, and the day soon after began to break with its promise of a glorious morrow, and soon after the first glow of orange in the east told of the coming sun, and as it shone through the casement of a long low room where a pale slight girl was lying asleep, it illumined the handsome sad countenance of one who had not slept, but had knelt there praying for the safety of her son.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

A DESPERATE GALLOP.

To Fred's great satisfaction, the sturdy, serious-looking followers of General Hedley treated the Hall and its surroundings with a fair amount of respect.

They did not scruple to make bountiful use of the contents of the garden; and, as far as they went, revelled on the productions of the dairy, while they one and all declared the cider to be excellent.

So comfortable were the quarters, that the absence of news of the expected reinforcements gave great satisfaction to all but the general, who walked up and down Sir Godfrey's library fretting at the inaction, and shaking his head at his young follower, who was for the time being acting as his secretary, but with no despatches to write.

"It's bad, Fred Forrester—bad," he said. "When you have anything to do, let it be done firmly and well. Let there be no procrastination. Your father ought to be here by now."

"I don't think it can be his fault, sir," said Fred, stoutly.

"It's somebody's fault," said the general, angrily. "No, no; I am sure it is not his. Well, I must have the men out to do something. No rust, Fred Forrester, no rust. What are you going to do?"

"Take my place in the regiment, sir, if you have no more writing for me to do."

"Don't want to go over to the Manor, then, to see the ladies, and ask how all are?"

"Of course I should like to, sir, but I was not going to ask leave."

"You can go, my lad. There is no news of the enemy, and the scouts are well out in every direction. Be on the look-out though, and I cannot give you more than three hours."

Overjoyed at this unexpected piece of good fortune, Fred hurried to his sleeping quarters, to try and give a few touches to his personal appearance, for, after months in the field, he did not feel at all proud of his sombre and shabby uniform.

This done, he made off just as the little force of well-mounted, sturdy men under the general's command were filing slowly out, and making for the broad open park, where a long and arduous drill was to be carried out.

It was a glorious day, and the prospect of being at home for even so short a time, and seeing his mother and those who had been his best friends was delightful. There was no sign of warfare anywhere, such as he had seen in other parts, in the shape of devastated crops and burned outhouses. But as he rose one of the hills that he had to cross, a glint of steel, where the sun shone on a morion, showed where one of the outposts was on the look-out. Further on, away to the left, he caught sight of another, and knowing pretty well where to look, he had no difficulty, sooner or later, in making out where the different vedettes were placed.

"Puzzle an enemy to catch our weasel asleep," he said to himself, laughingly, as he trotted on. "Why, if all our leaders were like General Hedley and my father, the war would soon be at an end—and a good thing too."

He rode on, thinking of the reception he would get, and hoping that Lady Markham would not behave coldly to him; and then the watchfulness of the pupil in military matters came out.

It was not his business to see where the outposts were, but it seemed to come natural to him to note their positions.

"I might have to place men myself, some day," he said; "and it's as well to know."

"Yes; there he is," he muttered, as he caught sight of another and then of another far away, but forming links of a chain of men round the camp, well within touch of each other, and all ready to gallop at the first alarm.

"There ought to be one out here," said Fred, at last, just as he was nearing the Manor; and for the moment he was ready to pass him over, and think of nothing but those whom he had come to see, but discipline mastered.

The spot he was approaching was a little eminence, which commanded a deep valley or coombe, that went winding and zigzagging for miles, and here he looked in vain for the outpost.

"Strange!" thought Fred; and he rode on a little further, till he was nearly to the top of the eminence, when his heart leaped, and by instinct he clapped his hand to his sword. For there, with lowered head, cropping the sweet short grass among the furze and heath, was the outpost's horse; and this, to Fred's experienced eye, meant the rider shot down at his post.

Half dreaming a similar fate, he looked sharply round, and then uttered an angry exclamation, as he touched his horse's flanks, and rode forward to where the man lay between two great bushes.

But not wounded. The secret of his fall was by his side. By some means he had contrived to get a large flask of wine up at the Hall, and the vessel lay by him empty, while he was sound asleep.

"You scoundrel!" cried Fred, closing up and bending down to take hold of the man's piece, where it stood leaning against a bush.

As he raised it, a distant flash caught his eye, and there, winding slowly and cautiously along the bottom of the coombe, with advanced guards, came a strong body of horsemen, whose felt hats and feathers here and there told only too plainly that they belonged to the Cavaliers.

To his horror, Fred saw that some of the advance were coming up the side of the valley not two hundred yards away, and that unless the alarm were given, the little force so calmly going through their manoeuvres in the park would be surprised. At the same moment, he saw that he had been noticed before he caught sight of the approaching enemy, but he did not hesitate. Raising the heavy piece, he fired, and at the shot the grazing horse tossed its head and cantered to his side, leaving its master to take his chance.

"He'll get no wine as a prisoner," said Fred, bitterly, as he spurred his horse to a gallop, just as shot after shot from the other outposts carried on his alarm—while, following a shout to him to surrender, came shots that were not intended to give the alarm, but to bring him down.

Fred glanced back once, and saw that the advance guard of the enemy were in full pursuit, a sight which made him urge on his steed to its utmost, while as he glanced back on getting to the top of the next hill, he could see that the enemy had divided into two bodies, and throwing off all concealment, they were thundering on, so as to get up with those who would spread the alarm, intending to spread it themselves, and to a dangerous extent.

"They'll overtake me," muttered Fred, as he looked back and saw how well some of the leading men were mounted, and also that some of those in the main body were better mounted still, and were rapidly diminishing the distance between them and their advance guard.

Right and left and well ahead of him he could see their own outposts galloping in toward the centre, but, strive how he would, he felt that he must be overtaken long before he could reach the Hall.

"They will not kill me," he said to himself. "They would only make a prisoner of me, unless some fierce Cavalier cuts me down."

"But I have saved them from a surprise," he continued; and he once more tried to get a little speed out of the worn-out horse he rode.

It was a neck-or-nothing gallop, and over and over again Fred would have been glad to change his mount, and leap on to the trained horse which kept its place riderless by his side. But the enemy were thundering on in full pursuit, and to have paused meant certain capture.

On they rode, the Cavaliers behind, with their blades flashing, and their feathers streaming, and in the excitement of the race he could not help thinking of the gallant appearance they made, as they spurred one against the other in their reckless endeavour to overtake him.

He had forsaken the road, and turned on to the rough moorland, a more difficult way, but he and his horse were more at home there, and he knew how to avoid the roughest rocky portions, and the pieces of bog, while there was always the hope that the pursuers might try to make some cut to intercept him, and so find themselves foundered in the mire.

The race had lasted some minutes now, and the fugitive was in full hope that the alarm had been spread by the inner line of vedettes, when a bright thought flashed across his brain.

He glanced back, and could see about a dozen of the Cavaliers some forty yards behind, and a few hundred yards behind them a couple of regiments.

"They will follow my pursuers," he argued; and as he came to that conclusion, he drew his right rein, and bore off a little, making straight for a deep hollow where the peat lay thick, and it was impossible for a horse to cross.

If they followed him there, he could swerve off to the right again as he reached the treacherous ground, and edge safely round it, while the main body of his pursuers would in all probability plunge in.

"That would ensure their defeat," he said to himself, as in imagination he saw the gallant regiments floundering saddle deep in the black, half-liquid peat.

As he had hoped, so it seemed to be. His nearest pursuers turned off after him, so did the main body, and, almost indifferent now as to capture, so long as he could save those at the park, he turned to look back, when, just as the Cavaliers were thundering on to destruction, one horseman dashed in front, waving his plumed hat, and meeting them— sending all but about half a score round to the left, so that they skirted the morass, just as they were on the point of charging in.

"Some one who knows the danger," muttered Fred, as he galloped on. "Scarlett, of course. It must have been he."

Another five minutes, with the foremost men not half a dozen yards behind, brought Fred to the top of a hill, beyond which he could see the park, and to his horror the general's men were only then hurrying up into formation, with their officers galloping excitedly to and fro.

"Hold out, good old horse," panted Fred,—as he glanced back once more to see that capture must be certain now. "Another five minutes, and I could be with them," he sobbed out breathlessly; and, as if his horse understood him, or else nerved by the sight of his fellows so near at hand, he lay out like a greyhound, just as a trumpet blast rang out on Fred's left from the main body of the Cavaliers, a call whose effect was that Fred's pursuers who had skirted the right of the morass, turned off to the left, and rode on so as to regain their places in the ranks, where their presence would be of more value than in pursuing a few scattered outposts.

To an ordinary commander, the act of the Royalist leader seemed utter madness. The horses of his men were half-blown by a long gallop, and they were about to charge a body of sturdy cavalry, whose mounts were rested and fresh.

But there was no hesitation. As they drew near, the trumpets rang out, steel flashed, feathers flew, the horses snorted, and with a wild hurrah! the Royalist troops literally raced against the advancing Parliamentarians. There was a shock, the crash of steel, a roar as of thunder, horse and man went headlong down on the green turf of the Hall park, and to General Hedley's chagrin, and in spite of the valour of his officers, and the stern stuff of which his men were composed, the gallantry and dash of the first regiment was such that it seemed as if a wedge had been driven through his ranks, and his discomfiture was completed by the following charge of the second Cavalier line.

One minute his well-trained horsemen were advancing in good formation to meet the shock of the Royalists, the next, discipline seemed to be at an end, and the Parliamentarians were in full flight.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

SAMSON TO THE RESCUE.

Unscathed, in spite of the terrible dangers of the melee, Fred, after succeeding in reaching his companions, joined them in their charge, and was driven back in their reverse, riding headlong as they rode in what was hardly a retreat, but rather a running fight, till seeing his opportunity, he made for where he could see General Hedley striving, in company with the officers, to check the retrograde movement, but striving in vain.

For there was a wild valour and dash exhibited by the Cavaliers, which for the time being carried all before them. No sooner had something like a rally been made by the Parliamentarians, than the Royalists charged at them in a headlong rush, which would have ended in almost total destruction with some troops.

But there was a sturdy solidity about the followers of General Hedley, and the result of these charges was that, while some fell, the others were merely moved here and there, and as soon as their assailants had passed on they seemed to hang together again, driven outward always, but not scattered. In fact, for mile after mile the running fight was continued, growing slower and slower as horse and man were wearied out, till, had a minute's grace been afforded them, General Hedley felt that he could have gathered his men together, and by one vigorous charge have changed the state of affairs.

But the opportunity for re-formation was never afforded, and the great crowd of mounted men of both parties rode on mingled together in confusion, right over the wild moorland countryside. The number of individual combats was almost countless, and their track was marked by the heather being dotted with fallen men, the wounded, and often the dismounted, and by exhausted or hopelessly foundered horses.

And still the fight went on, with the attacks growing more feeble, till the Cavaliers' horses could hardly be spurred into a canter, and many a one stopped short.

It was a strange flight, in which the beaten gave way slowly, and with an obstinate English tenacity of purpose, which made them cling to their enemies, and refuse to acknowledge their rout. They were broken up, and, according to all preconceived notions of cavalry encounters, they ought to have scattered and fled, but they only went on as they were driven and broken up in knots, and the Cavalier leader knew perfectly well that the moment he ceased his efforts, the other party would, as it were, flow together again and return their charge, perhaps with fatal results to his little force, for his men were growing completely exhausted.

"If I could only get a troop together!" muttered General Hedley between his teeth; and again and again he tried to rally his men. But the Cavaliers dashed at them directly, the efforts proved vain, and the melee continued—a struggle in which order was absent, and men struck and rode at each other, broke their weapons, and often engaged in a mounted wrestling bout, which ended in a pair of adversaries falling headlong to the ground. Fred would have been out of the skirmish early in the engagement from the exhaustion of his horse, but as the pace grew slower, the poor brute recovered itself somewhat, and whenever flight or attack grew more rapid, exerted itself naturally to keep as near as could be in the ranks.

The scene was terrible for one so young, as he sat there grimly, often in the middle of a confused crowd, his sword drawn ready more for defence than offence, for now that the excitement of the flight was over, and he had rejoined his regiment, there was little of the blind desire to strike and slay in Fred Forrester's breast. He contented himself with turning aside thrusts and meeting blows with a clever guard, as some Cavalier tried to reach him, while twice over he found another sword interposed on his behalf.

The fight must have lasted for half an hour, when about a dozen of the Cavaliers raised a shout, and made a dash at where General Hedley was slowly retreating, their object being evidently to take him prisoner before, from sheer exhaustion, the pursuit was given up.

But the idea was not so easy to carry out, though for the moment the general was alone. The horse he rode was strong and fairly fresh, those of his would-be captors pretty well foundered, and, in addition, there was help at hand.

Fred had just had a narrow escape, for a stout Cavalier had forced his own horse alongside, contriving, in spite of the lad's efforts, to get upon his left or weaker side, and pressing him sorely. Fred had need for all the skill with the sword he had picked up since he had been with the army, and he had dire need for more power in his muscles, for after a minute's foining and thrusting, he found his guard beaten down through his adversary's superior strength, a hand was outstretched, catching him by the collar of his jerkin, and in spite of his efforts he was dragged sidewise toward the pommel of his enemy's horse.

"I'll have one prisoner, at all events," growled the man, fiercely; and he gave Fred's horse a savage kick in the ribs, with the intention of making him start away.

Had the horse followed the enemy's wishes, his rider would have been unseated, but, instead of starting away, the well-drilled beast pressed closer alongside the horse by his side, and Fred still clung to the saddle.

"Ah, you wretched young Puritan spawn! Would you sting?" growled the man, as Fred made a desperate effort to use his sword. "Then take that."

The Cavalier rose in his stirrups, and was in the act of striking with all his might, when a fresh sword parted the air like a flash, swung as it was by a muscular arm, and the middle of the blade caught the Cavalier trooper right upon the plated cheek-strap of the morion he wore, dividing it so that the steel cap flew off, and the man dropped back over the cantle of his saddle, his frightened horse making a bound forward and carrying his master a dozen yards before he fell heavily on the heath.

"Who says I can't use a sword as well as a scythe?" cried a familiar voice.

"Oh, Samson, you've saved my life," cried Fred.

"Serve you right, too, my lad—I mean, serve him right, too. Trying to chop down a boy like you."

"I am sorry. Look, look, look!" cried Fred, excitedly.

"Eh? Look? What at?"

"Over yonder, where all those Cavaliers are crowding together to make another charge."

"Yes, I see 'em. What a state their horses are in!"

"But don't you see Scarlett Markham? And who's that with them? I see now. Your brother."

"What, Nat? Where, where? Let me get at him. There's going to be a prisoner took now, Master Fred, and he'll have to look sharp to get away."

Samson set spurs to his horse, but Fred checked him by seizing the bridle.

"No, no," he said; "keep by me, and let's close up to the general. This is no time for personal feelings, Samson. We must think only of our party."

"Ah, well, I won't hurt him, Master Fred; but how would you like your brother to be hunting you about the country, as Nat has been hunting us? Wouldn't you like to have a turn at him?"

"I have no brother, Samson," replied Fred, as he glanced in the direction where, about a hundred yards away, Scarlett was in the midst of a group of the Cavaliers, who were steadily driving the grim Cromwellian troopers before them, and effectually keeping them from combining so as to retaliate with effect.

Then Scarlett was hidden from his sight, and yielding slowly step by step, the Parliamentarians kept up a defiant retreat.

It might be supposed that at such a time the slaughter would be terrible; but, after the first onset, when men went down headlong, the number of killed and wounded were few. For there were no withering volleys of musketry, no field-pieces playing upon the disorganised cavalry from a distance; it was a sheer combat of mounted men armed with the sword, against whose edge and point defensive armour was worn; and in consequence many of the wounds were insignificant, more injuries being received by men being dismounted than by the blades.

The officers of the retreating party kept up their efforts to rally their little force, but always in vain, for the gathering together of a cluster of men resulted in the Cavaliers making that the point for which they made, and they carried all before them.

"They are more than two to one, literally," growled the general, fiercely, as he felt that there was nothing to be done but to summon his men to follow, and, taking advantage of the fresher state of their horses, put on all the speed they could, and make for a valley right ahead, where they might elude their pursuers, and accepting the present defeat endeavour to make up for it another time.