Giving the order then, the trumpet rang out, and the men sullenly obeyed, setting spurs to their horses, and for the most part extricating themselves from their pursuers, whose horses began to stagger and even stop as their masters urged them to the ascent of a slope, up which the Parliamentarians were retreating.

This being the case, their own leader ordered his trumpeter to sound a halt, and the successful party set up a tremendous cheer as they waved their hats and flashed their swords in the sunshine.

"Yes," muttered General Hedley, as he looked back at his triumphant enemies exulting over his defeat, but too helpless to pursue, "make much of it; a reverse may come sooner than you expect."

"I don't like being beaten like this, Master Fred," grumbled Samson, leaning over to smooth the reeking coat of the horse his young master rode; "and it's all your fault."

"My fault? How?"

"Holding me back as you did, and letting that brother of mine get away sneering and sniggering at me, with his nose cocked up in the air, and swelling with pride till he's like the frog in the fable."

"How do you know he was sneering at you?" said Fred, who felt stiff, sore, and as if he would give anything to dismount and lie down among the soft elastic heather.

"How do I know, sir? Why, because it's his nature to. You don't understand him as I do. I can't see him, because I can't look through that hill, but I know as well as can be that he's riding on his horse close to Master Scarlett, and going off."

"Going off?"

"Yes, sir, in little puffs of laughing. It's his aggravating way. And he's keeping on saying, 'Poor old Samson!' till it makes my blood bile."

"What nonsense! He is more likely to be riding away jaded, and sore, and disheartened."

"Not he, sir, because he aren't got no heart, and never had none— leastways, not a proper sort of heart. I can feel it, and I always could. He's a-sneering at us all, and thinking how he has beaten us, when, if you had let me have my head, I could have gone at him sword in hand—"

"And cut his head off?"

"Cut his head off, sir? Why, it aren't worth cutting off. I mean to keep my sword, which is a real good bit o' stuff, and as sharp as a scythe, for better heads than his. I wouldn't stoop to do it. No, Master Fred, I tell you what I'd have done: I'd have ridden up to him right afore 'em all, and I should have said, 'Nat, my lad, your time's come;' and I should have laid hold of him by the scruff of the neck, and beat him with the flat of the blade till he went down on his knees and said he wouldn't do so any more."

"Do what any more, Samson?"

"Everything as he have been doing."

"And suppose he wouldn't have let you beat him before all the others?"

"Wouldn't have let me, Master Fred? He'd have been obliged to. I should have made him."

"You are too modest, Samson," said Fred, laughing.

"Oh no, I'm not, sir—not a bit. I wish sometimes I was a bit more so. But you should have let me go at him, sir. I'd have made him run, like a sheep with a dog at his heels."

"Ah, Samson," cried Fred, wearily, "it's sore work when brothers are fighting against each other."

"No worse, sir, than two such friends as you and Master Scarlett was. Why, you was more than brothers. Oh, I don't like this here at all."

"What?"

"Running away with our tails between our legs, like so many dogs with stones thrown at 'em."

"It is miserable work, but better than being taken prisoners."

They rode on down into the coombe, and followed its wanderings with rear and advance guards, though they felt but little fear of pursuit, and for a long time hardly a word was spoken along the ranks. The horses were going at a foot-pace, and as they went the troopers played surgeon to each other, and bound up the slight wounds they had received, for these were many, though not enough to render them beyond fighting if necessity should occur.

Once the general called a halt, and posted scouts on the hills around, while he gave his men an opportunity to water their horses at the running stream at the bottom of the coombe, and to attend to the wounds the poor beasts had received, many a sword-cut intended for the rider having fallen upon his horse.

The surgery in these cases was simple and effectual. It consisted in thrusting a pin, sometimes two, through the skin which formed the lips of the wound, and then twisting a piece of thread round and round the pin, passing it first under the head, and then under the point, the result being that the wound was drawn close, and so retained with a pad of thread. This rough treatment generally proved sufficient, and while the treatment was in progress the poor animals stood patiently turning their great, soft, earnest eyes upon the operator with a mournful look which seemed to say, "Don't hurt me more than you can help." Sometimes, but these were the exceptions, when instead of the above a stab had to be attended to, and a plug of flax thrust in, the horse would start, and give an angry stamp with its hoof, but only to stand patiently again, as if it resigned itself to its master, who must know what was best.

The general soon gave orders to continue the march, for he knew that the longer they stayed the stiffer and sorer his force would be; and once more the retreat was continued in a south-westerly direction, while, as the afternoon began to grow old, Samson, after having been very silent for a long time, turned sharply round.

"What are you thinking about, Master Fred?"

"I was wondering whether Scarlett Markham will behave as well to my mother as I did to his."

"He'd better," said Samson, fiercely. Then, after a pause, "Oh, I don't feel afraid about that, sir. He's sure to. You see, he's a gentleman, and there's a deal in being a gentleman. He'll take care of her, never fear. That's not what I was thinking."

"What were you thinking, then?" said Fred, anxiously.

"Well, sir, to speak the plain, downright, honest truth, as a Coombeland man should, whether he be a soldier or a gardener—"

"Yes, yes. Go on. You talk too much, Samson," said Fred, pettishly, for he was faint and sore.

"Well, sir, suppose I do. But I aren't neglecting anything, and there's nothing else to do. Seems quite a rest to hear one's self speak."

"Then speak out, and say what you were thinking."

"I was thinking, sir, that I wish I was a horse just now."

"A horse? Why?"

"So as I could have a good fill of water, and keep on taking a bite of sweet fresh green grass."

"Why, Samson!"

"Ah, you don't know, Master Fred. I'm that hungry, it wouldn't be safe to trust me anywhere near meat; and not so much as a turnip anywhere, nor a chance to catch a few trout. I wish I could tickle a few; I'd eat 'em raw."

"I'm sorry, Samson, and I haven't a scrap of food with me."

"No, sir, nor nobody else. You see, we were all out for exercise, and not on the march, with our wallets full. And that aren't the worst of it. Master Fred, I could lie down and cry."

"Because you are so hungry?"

"No, sir; but when I think of what we've left behind at the Hall. Ducks, sir, and chickens; and there was hams. Oh!" groaned Samson, laying his hand just below his heart, "those hams!"

Fred was weak, tired, faint, and low-spirited, but the doleful aspect of his henchman was so comic that he burst into a fit of laughter.

"Well, Master Fred," said the ex-gardener, letting the reins rest on the horse's neck, as he involuntarily tightened his belt, "I did think better of you than to s'pose you'd laugh at other folk's troubles. Then there was the cider, too. It wasn't so good as our cider at the Manor, sir, for they hadn't got the apples at the Hall to give it the flavour, spite of old Nat's bragging and boasting; but still, it wasn't so very bad for a thirsty man, though I will say it was too sharp, and some I tasted yesterday told tales."

"What of, Samson?"

"My lazy, good-for-nothing brother, sir," said Samson, triumphantly.

"Told tales of your brother—of Nat?"

"Yes, sir. There was a twang in that cider that said quite aloud, 'Dirty barrel,' and that he hadn't taken the trouble to properly wash it out before it was used; but all the same, though it was half spoiled by his neglect, I'd give anything for a mugful of it now, and a good big home-made bread cake."

"So would I, Samson," said Fred, smiling.

"And them enemies with my brother are all riding comfortably back to feast and sleep; and while we're camping cold and miserable on the hills, they'll all be singing and rejoicing."

"I hope they are thinking more of the poor wounded fellows they will have to pick up on their way back. Hallo! Look! Steady there. Halt!"

He passed the word received from the front, for half a mile ahead, on one of the hills, a scout was signalling.

Fresh men were sent forward, and as the signals evidently meant danger ahead, the general hurriedly took up a position of advantage, one which gave him the choice of advance or retreat.

"Dismount!" was the next order, so as to rest the horses as much as possible.

"More fighting," said Samson, in a low, grumbling tone. "Well, if one don't get enough to eat, one get's enough hard knocks, and I never felt miserly over them. Look here, Master Fred, are we going to have another scrummage?"

"Hush! Yet, I think so."

"So do I, sir," said Samson, taking up his belt another hole. "Very well, then; I'm that hungry, that I'm regularly savage now, and this time I mean to hit with all my might."

"Silence, there!" said a deep stern voice, and General Hedley rode along the regiment, scrutinising his little force, and waiting the return of the men sent out before deciding whether he should make a bold advance or a cautious retreat.

The horses took advantage of the halt to begin cropping the tender growth around, and as Fred listened and watched the movements of the scouts far away on the hillside, it seemed hard to realise that he was in the midst of war, for high overhead a lark was singing sweetly, as it circled round and round, ever rising heavenward; and at his feet there was the regular tearing sound of the grass.

These recollections of home and peace came back as, with a look of boyish pleasure on his face, Samson pointed to the lovely little copper butterflies flitting here and there, their dotted wings glistening in the sun.

"Look at 'em, Master Fred," he whispered; and then stood with his hand upon his horse's withers, the stern man of war once more, as his master made a gesture bidding him hold his peace.

For quite half an hour they stood there by their horses' sides, every minute being of value in the rest and refreshment it afforded the weary beasts.

The scouts could be seen following up, as it were, the movements of some force hidden by the hills from where the regiment had halted, and by degrees they began to work over the eminence and disappeared, while the general seemed to be fretting with impatience, till all at once those near him heard him utter a low "Hah!" and he gave the order to his men to prepare to mount.

A thrill ran through the long line of men, and Fred heard his follower utter a low, adjuration to his unwilling steed.

"Leave off eating, will you? Hold your head up. Who are you, that you are to go on feasting while your master starves?"

The horse looked at him reproachfully, and had to content itself with chewing a few strands of grass off his bit.

The reason for the general's order was plain enough directly, for they could see one of the advance men coming back at full gallop down the distant hill, and long before he could reach them the other scouts appeared, retiring slowly in two lines, one sitting fast and facing the approaching force, while the other careered by them, and took up a fresh position in their rear.

There were only ten men out, at a distance of sixty or seventy yards apart, but as they drew nearer to their goal their lines contracted, and this was continued so that they could ride in as a compact little knot.

Meanwhile the first man came tearing in as fast as his horse could go, and when he was a few hundred yards away, the order was given, and the dismounted men sprang into the saddle.

"Don't seem to have a bit of fight left in me now," muttered Samson. "No dinner, and no Nat here to make a man feel savage. Wish I was back at the Manor, digging my bit o' ground. Anybody might fight for me."

At that moment a fresh order was given, and every man sat stern and ready for the advance or retreat, wondering which way they would go, and of what nature the force was, evidently advancing fast.



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

THE HALL CHANGES MASTERS AGAIN.

The cheering and triumphant congratulation amongst the Royalist party was mingled with regret at being unable to crown their little victory by taking their opponents prisoners to a man. But their horses were exhausted, and they had the mortification of seeing the little body under General Hedley ride away.

Then the order to return was given, and a strong party was told off to the painful duty of picking up the wounded, and bearing them back to the Hall.

Sir Godfrey Markham gave the order that they should be taken there, and Scarlett was deputed to see that the work was properly carried out—a gruesome task enough; but he was growing used to such scenes, and the feeling of doing good and affording help to those in need robbed the duty of much of its terrors.

In this case the task was comparatively light, for there were very few dead, and of the wounded, fully one-half were able to limp slowly back toward the Hall, the troops remaining to cover them till they had reached one of the great barns which was set apart for the temporary hospital.

To the credit of all concerned, be it said that, principally due to the action of Sir Godfrey Markham, who was in command of the two regiments which had routed the late occupants of the Hall, the wounded were treated as wounded men, no distinction being made as to whether they were Cavalier or Roundhead.

All this took some time, and at last Scarlett rode up to where his father was standing among a group of dismounted officers, whose followers were letting their tired steeds crop the grass in the same way as that practised by their enemies, when one of the outposts came galloping in with news which sent the Cavaliers once more into their saddles, when lines were formed, and Sir Godfrey gave the order to advance.

"Could you hear what he said?" whispered Scarlett to Nat, who was close behind him.

"Coming back, sir, three times as strong," whispered Nat. "Means another fight."

The hurried orders and the excitement displayed on the part of the officers endorsed Nat's words; though, had there been any doubt, the summons Scarlett had to his father's side cleared it away at once.

"Listen, my boy," said the general, as Scarlett cantered up; "the enemy are upon us, and we shall perhaps have to retreat, for, jaded as we are, they will be too much for us. Be cautious, and don't let your men get out of hand through rashness. We must give way as they did to-day."

"Run, father?"

"No; bend back right to the earth if necessary, so that the rebound may be the stronger. Now, to your place."

As Scarlett regained his troop, the young officer over him was talking loudly to his men.

"They're not satisfied with the beating they have already had," he was saying. "Let's show them now what we can do when we are in earnest. It was a mistake to show the rascals mercy this morning. Why, if I had been in command of the men, instead of Sir Godfrey, I would not have left two of the rebels together. Now you see the mistake."

"I have no doubt that my father and Colonel Grey did what was right," said Scarlett, hotly.

"And what does a boy like you know about it, sir?" cried the young officer, fiercely. "To your place."

Scarlett felt ready to retort angrily, but he knew his duty, young soldier as he was, and resumed his place without a word.

It was none too soon, for directly after there was a glint of steel over the edge of one of the undulations of the moor, and seen at the distance they were, with the western sun shining full upon them, it seemed as if a long array of armed men was rising from the earth, as first their helmets, then their shoulders, breastplates, and soon after the horses' heads appeared, and then more and more, till a line of well-mounted troops appeared advancing at a walk, while behind them, gradually coming into view in the same way, a second line could be seen.

As they approached over the moor, a third line came into view, while, in obedience to their orders, the Cavaliers retired by troops in slow order, each in turn having the duty of facing the advancing enemy.

When it came to Scarlett's turn to sit there motionless watching their approach, he could not help letting his eyes stray over the moor, every foot of which was familiar. Away behind him to the left the ground rapidly descended to the park, with its lake and woods, through which he had made his way so short a time before. There, hidden by the noble trees which flourished as soon as the moorland proper, with its black peaty soil, was passed, lay the Hall, and a feeling of sadness and depression came over him as he thought of his home being made the scene of a bloody fight, and again falling into the enemy's hands.

"May I speak a word, Master Scarlett?" said a voice behind him, in a whisper.

"Yes; what is it?" said the young officer, without turning his head.

"Hit hard, Master Scarlett, and do your best. I don't like killing folk, and you needn't do that; but do hit hard."

"For the king," said Scarlett, thoughtfully.

"Yes, I suppose so, sir," said Nat, mournfully; "but I was thinking about the old home and my garden."

"Silence, there!" came in a stern voice from the leader of the troop; and the next instant the trumpet rang out, and they had to face about and trot behind the foremost troop of all, leaving another to face the coming enemy.

This went on till the slope was reached upon which General Hedley's men had been going through their evolutions in the morning; and here, in full view of the old Hall, Sir Godfrey Markham and the colonel of the other regiment drew up in a favourable position for receiving the charge which seemed to be imminent from the action of the enemy.

This position would force the Parliamentarians to gallop up a hill, and it was the intention of Sir Godfrey to meet them half-way with the elan given by a rapid descent, when he hoped to give them a severe check, one which would enable him to either rid himself of his enemies or give him time to make good his retreat on one of the towns in his rear, where he hoped to find reinforcements.

All turned out as he expected, with one exception. The troop in which Scarlett rode was selected by him, naturally enough, to go on in front on the line of retreat, while the rest of his little force sat fast on the hill slope, waiting the moment when the enemy were coming up the hill for their own advance to be made.

The young officer at the head of the little troop of about forty men muttered angrily at having such a task thrust upon him, but he did his duty steadily and well, riding slowly on over the moor down toward the Manor, which, like the Hall, would be left upon their right.

As they passed over the top of the hill, Scarlett glanced back to see that the enemy were evidently about to deliver their charge; and his heart beat painfully as he felt that he would have to imagine what would take place, and pray that no harm might happen to his father.

The next minute the long slope with its dotted trees was out of sight, and he was descending steadily, his ears strained to catch the sound of the impending shock, as the notes of a trumpet, softened by the distance, fell upon his ear, and then his heart gave a sudden bound, and seemed to stand still.

For at that moment their advance guard came galloping back, and before they could more than realise their danger, a line of fully a hundred and fifty men wheeled into sight, right in their front, from behind a patch of wood a hundred yards away, and came sweeping down upon them.

To have retreated would have meant annihilation, and with a ringing cheer the little band dashed down to meet their advancing foes.

Then, in the midst of the wild excitement, as the moor seemed to quiver beneath their horses' feet, there was a cheer, a clash of steel, and amidst shouts and the blaring of trumpets, the stronger prevailed over the weaker, and Scarlett found himself in the midst of a confused group of his men being driven back upon the main body higher and higher up the hill, till he reached the summit among a scattered party of his own side, through whose ranks the Puritans were riding furiously.

One glance showed him where his leaders were, and he made for the spot, fully realising that the Royal force had been driven back by the bold charge delivered, and then in the midst of the confusion consequent thereon, utterly routed and scattered by the dashing attack on their rear, while, to fulfil the truth of the adage about misfortunes never coming singly, a fresh troop wheeled up on their flank and completed the downfall.

"Ah, quick, my boy! Here!" cried a familiar voice, as Scarlett rode up, and a party of about fifty dashed down the slope, headed by Sir Godfrey, and, hotly pursued by a squadron of the enemy, galloped round the head of the lake, leaping the stream and then the low stone wall of the Hall garden, to take refuge there.

As they reached this haven, a trumpet sounded a recall, and the pursuing squadron missed their opportunity of capturing the flying band, while, when they advanced again, it was to find that the horses were well secured within the Hall yard, whose stout oaken gates were closed, and that the old house was garrisoned by a desperate little force ready to withstand a siege.

"Better than giving up as prisoners, Scar, my boy," said Sir Godfrey, sadly; "and better than being hunted down. All was over, and it was in vain to keep up the fight. It only meant the useless loss of brave men."

"Will they attack us here, sir?" said Scarlett.

"Most likely, and if they do, we'll fight till the very end—fight for our hearth and home, my boy. But there, we must do all we can to make the place more secure before night comes."

"Look!" said Scarlett, pointing.

"Yes, I see, my boy," said Sir Godfrey, sadly; "completely scattered, and a strong body in pursuit. Ah, they are going to bivouac there, and we shall have them here directly foraging for food and shelter. Well, cheer up. These are times of reverses. They were here yesterday; it is our turn to-day."

And without another word, Sir Godfrey went into the hall, to pay the double part of commander and host, his words and example soon putting spirit in the disheartened band.

"But we shall have to surrender, Sir Godfrey, shall we not, unless we wait till dark, and then take our horses and try to get away?"

"You may depend upon one thing, gentlemen," said Sir Godfrey, "the enemy are far stronger than we think. Every path will be carefully guarded, our horses are worn-out, and we are safe to be taken."

"But we cannot defend this place, sir," said another.

"Why not? I say, defend it as long as one stone stands upon another."

"But food—ammunition."

"Plenty, sir, for a month," continued the general, "unless all was carried off by our friends. No fear. Their occupation was too short, and we took them too much by surprise. Why, look there," he said, pointing to one corner of the hall, "there are enough of their pieces there to arm us all. What is it to be, gentlemen? Surrender or fight?"

For answer, hats were tossed in the air, and the carved beams of the roof rang with the hearty cheers of the Cavaliers, and the cry of—

"God save the king!"



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

WHAT FRED FOUND IN THE WOOD.

"Why, Fred, my boy, what a long face. What's the matter?"

For answer, Fred pointed to the trampled garden, the litter in the park, and the desolation visible at the Hall, where window casements had been either smashed or taken off, and rough barricades erected; so that where all had once been so trim and orderly, desolation seemed to reign.

For the little band of devoted Royalists, under Sir Godfrey Markham, had offered a desperate defence to every attempt made by the attacking party, which for want of infantry and guns, had settled down to the task of starving them out.

The prisoners and the wounded from the barn, irrespective of party, had been sent to the nearest town; and as no immediate call was being made upon his services, and his orders were to wait for reinforcements, so as to render the men under his command something like respectable in number, General Hedley set himself seriously to the task of crippling the Royalist forces, by securing the person of Sir Godfrey Markham, whose influence in the district was very great, and whose prowess as a soldier had worked terrible disaster to the Puritan cause.

The little siege of the Hall had been going on four days, when Colonel Forrester, who had been with the relieving party, found his son contemplating the ruin.

"Yes," he said, "it is bad; but better so than that these Royalists should be destroying our home, my boy."

"Is it, father?" said Fred, doubtingly.

"Is it, sir? Of course. That is the home of our most deadly enemy, a man who has wrought endless mischief to our cause and country. Why, you do not sympathise with him?"

"I was not thinking of sympathy, father, but of the happy days Scar Markham and I used to spend here."

"Pish! Don't talk like a child, sir. You are growing a man, and you have your duty to do."

"Yes, father, and I'm going to try and do it."

"Of course. That's better, Fred. As to Markham, we are behaving nobly to him by having his wife and daughter at the Manor, and caring for them there."

"I don't see much in that, father."

"What, sir?"

"Men do not make war upon women, and I think it was our duty to protect Lady Markham, and I acted accordingly."

Colonel Forrester turned fiercely upon his son, but checked himself.

"Humph! Yes. I suppose you were right, Fred. There, we need not argue such points as these. Too much to do."

"Of course, father; but one cannot quite forget the past."

"No, certainly not. But do your duty to your country, my boy, and leave the rest."

"Yes, father," said Fred; "but are we going to attack the place again soon?"

"Yes; and this time most vigorously. The nest of hornets must be cleared out, eh, Hedley?" he said, as the general came up from the rough tent erected under one of the spreading trees.

"Of what are you talking?"

"My boy, here, asks me if we are going to attack the Hall again."

"Yes; if they do not march out by to-night, and give themselves up, I shall attack, and as I shall send them word, they must expect little mercy. By the way, Forrester, I want to talk to you." The pair marched slowly away, leaving Fred to his contemplation of the Hall and its surroundings; and he seated himself upon the mossy roots of a huge beech on the slope facing the old red stone building, and gazed eagerly at the distant figures which appeared at the window openings from time to time, wondering whether either of them was Scarlett, if he was with his father, for he was not among the wounded, or whether he had escaped among the scattered Royalists after that last fierce charge.

"He is sure to be there," said the lad to himself, as he sat on the rough buttress with his sword across his knees. "Poor old Scar! how I remember our taking down the swords and fighting, and Sir Godfrey coming and catching us. It seemed a grand thing to have a sword then—much grander than it seems now," he added, as he looked gloomily at the weapon he held.

He gazed moodily across the lake again, and then thought of his father's words about his duty to his country; and his young brow grew more and more wrinkled.

"Yes," he said; "I ought to do my duty to my country. Those people can hold us off, and there'll be a desperate fight, and some of our men will be killed, and nearly all theirs. I could stop it all and make an end of the fight easily enough by doing my duty to my country. But if I did, I should be sending Sir Godfrey and poor old Scar to prison, perhaps get them killed, because they would fight desperately, and I should make Lady Markham and poor little Lil miserable, and be behaving like a wretch. I don't like doing such duty."

"Let me see," continued Fred, as he gazed across the lake, "how should I do it? Easily enough. Get thirty or forty men, and take them in the old boat across to the mouth of the passage, ten at a time. What nonsense! March them after dark round to the wilderness, pull away the boughs, drop down, and thread our way right along the old passage into the Hall, surprise every one, and the place would be ours.

"And a nice treacherous thing to do; and I should fail," he cried joyously, "for Scar will have given me the credit of planning such a thing, and I'll be bound to say he has blocked the place up with stones.

"No; I couldn't do that, and if ever we meet again as friends, and Scar tells me he was sure I should attack them there, and that he guarded against it, I'll kick him for thinking me such a dishonourable traitor."

Fred sat musing still—wondering what the garrison were doing, and fighting hard to keep the thought of the secret passage out of his mind.

What would his father say if he knew of the secret he was keeping back? and conscience ran him very hard on the score of duty to his country.

"But," he said at last, "duty to one's country does not mean being treacherous to one's old friends. I'm obliged to fight against them; but I'll fight fairly and openly. I will not, duty to my country or no duty, go crawling through passages to stab them in the dark."

It was a glorious day, succeeding two during which a western gale had been blowing, drenching the attacking party, and making everything wretched around; and as Fred lose from where he had been seated and walked slowly along by the edge of the lake towards its eastern end, the water, moor, and woodlands looked so lovely that there was a mingled feeling of joy and misery in the lad's breast.

He thought of the besieged, then of those who were in all probability still at the Manor, from which duty had kept him absent, even his father having refrained from going across, though they had had daily information as to Mistress Forrester's welfare. Fred thought then of his own position, and all the time he was gazing down into the clear water, where he could see the bar-sided perch sailing slowly about, and the great carp and tench heavily wallowing among the lily stems, and setting the great flat leaves a-quiver as they floated on the surface. Ah, how it all brought back the pleasant old days when he and Scar used to spend so much time about the water-side!

"I wonder whether he can see me now," he muttered, as he came up to one of the little patches of woodland, and stood gazing across the lake at the ivy and bush-grown bank where the secret passage had its opening.

"No; I don't suppose Scar would know me at this distance," he said; and he took half a dozen steps forward, to be stopped short by the rattle of arms and a sharp "Halt!"

For the moment Fred thought himself in the presence of one of the enemy, and his hand darted to the hilt of his sword; but he realised directly after that it was one of their own men posted there, and he shivered as he wondered whether the sentry had noted the direction of his gaze.

"Only taking a stroll round, my man," said Fred, as he gave the password.

"Not going into the wood, are you, sir?"

"Yes; right on, towards the Hall."

"Better take care, sir. There are some clever marksmen there, and I should get into trouble if you were hurt."

"Don't be alarmed," replied Fred, smiling. "I'll take care."

He pushed on, and the sentinel remained at his hidden post, while, as if he found a certain pleasure in revisiting the spots familiar to him in the boyish adventures with his old companion, Fred wandered listlessly here and there, meeting sentry after sentry, posted so that the besieged should not have an opportunity of getting away, or sending a messenger in search of help.

"And all the time," muttered Fred, "I know how easily a messenger could be sent, and help obtained."

He stopped short at last, with his head in a whirl, wondering which course he ought to pursue, as the thought occurred to him that he should be answerable for the injury to his own party if Scarlett did send for assistance, making use of the passage as a means by which he could avoid the sentries.

"But he would not avoid the sentries, for they would catch the messenger all the same," he cried; "and I am driving myself half crazy about nothing, and—What's that?"

He stood listening, for it seemed to him that a low harsh moan had come from out of the dark shady woodland near where he stood.

He listened, but there was no further sound, and then he looked round, puzzled for the moment as to where he was. But he recognised certain features in the dense piece of forest directly after, and found that he had during his musings wandered in and in among the trees till he was in the old wilderness, close to the great fallen tree where they had made the discovery of the broken way into the hole.

He turned angrily away, for the thought of the secret passage brought back his mental struggle, as to which course he ought to pursue, and flight being certainly the easiest, he was about to hurry off, when once more the low harsh moan smote his ear.

"Two boughs rubbing together," he muttered, after listening for a repetition of the sound, recalling the while what peculiarly strange noises two fretting branches would make.

"But there's no wind," he said to himself; and directly after there came the sharp chirp of a bird, and then the low moan.

It was so unmistakably a cry of pain, that Fred took a few steps forward among the dense bushes, and then looked around.

There was nothing visible, but he was not surprised, for he was close now to the hidden hole down which he had fallen when he made his jump, and crushed through part of the touchwood trunk, and everywhere there was a dense thicket of undergrowth, through which, after another pause, he forced his way.

Nothing to see—nothing to hear; and he paused again, listening intently, and bending forward in the direction of the hidden opening, as the thought struck him that the cry might come from there.

Still, there was no further sound, and feeling convinced that he had hit upon the true source of the noise, and with a shiver of dread running through him as a dozen terrible suggestions offered themselves in connection with the sound and with Scarlett, he was about to force his way to the hole and drag away some of the broken branches which they had heaped there, and which he could now see were intact, and with the ferns and brambles and ivy growing luxuriantly, when a fresh moan met his ear, evidently from quite another direction.

It was with a feeling of relief that he turned from the way to the passage, and forcing his way on for some little distance, he paused again, and listened with almost a superstitious dread, for the sounds heard were in the midst of the gloomy wilderness, where the foot of man rarely trod, and appealed strongly to the superstitious part of the youth's nature.

In fact, after listening some time, and hearing nothing, the uncomfortable sensation increased, and he began to back away, when the sound was again heard—a harsh, wild, but very subdued cry from quite a different direction, thrilling the lad's nerves, and making him turn hastily to flee from the dark precincts.

For it was like no other sound which he had ever heard. No animal or bird could cry like that. The hedgehog, if shut up in a pit, would sometimes utter a wild strange noise, which, heard in the darkness, was startling as the shriek or hoot of an owl. But it was none of these, and giving way for the moment to ignorant superstition, Fred began to get out of the wilderness as fast as he could, till he stumbled over a briar stretched right across his way, fell heavily, and as he struggled up again, he heard the cry repeated.

"Oh, how I wish some one was here to knock me over!" he muttered angrily. "What a miserable coward I am!"

And now, fully convinced that some unhappy wounded man had crawled into the thicket to die, he went sharply back to where he had seemed nearest to the sound, and began to search once more.

It was for some time in vain, and probably he would have had to give up what seemed to be a hopeless task, had he not suddenly seen a bramble strand feebly thrust aside, and the point of a rusty sword directed toward him.

He drew his own weapon, and beat the rusty blade away, hacking through a few bramble strands, and there, deep down in a tunnel of strands and boughs, was the ghastly blood-besmeared countenance of a man, with hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and a look of weakness that strongly resembled that which, to his sorrow, he had so often seen upon the field of battle.

The wretched man seemed to make an effort to raise his rusty sword again, but it fell from his grasp, and he lay staring wildly at his finder.

"Who are you? How came you here?" began Fred, involuntarily, though he felt that he knew; and then, with a cry of surprise and horror, he dropped upon his knees beside the wounded man. "Nat, my poor fellow," he cried, "is it you?"

The man looked at him wildly for a few moments, as if he were dreaming, before the light of recognition came into his sunken eyes.

"Master Fred!" he whispered. "You? That's right. Put me out of my misery at once."

"Are you wounded?"

"Water—for Heaven's sake, water!"

Fred started up.

Water? How could he get water?

The lake was close at hand, if he could reach it unseen, for he shrank from calling help, which meant condemning the poor fellow to a prisoner's life as soon as he grew better. So, forcing his way along as cautiously as he could, he contrived to reach one of the trees whose boughs overhung the lake, and taking advantage of the shelter, he lay down upon his chest, grasped a stout hazel, lowered himself to where he could reach the surface, where he took off his steel morion, dipped it full, and rose carefully to bear the refreshing fluid to the suffering man.

It was not an easy task, for the undergrowth seemed to be more tangled than ever; but by stepping cautiously, he managed to bear almost every drop, and kneeling down, he gave the poor fellow a little at a time, an appealing look in the sufferer's eyes seeming to ask for more and more.

"Can you speak, Nat?" Fred said at last, as the man lay back with his eyes closed, and without opening them he softly bent his head.

"Are you wounded?"

"Yes; badly," came in a faint whisper.

"You were hurt at the last encounter?"

"Yes, and crawled here. Water!"

Fred administered more, every drop seeming delicious to the fevered lips of the wounded man.

Just then Fred remembered that he had a little bread in the wallet at his side; and breaking it up, he soaked a small piece in the water, and placed it between poor Nat's lips.

This was eaten, and a few more scraps, the refreshment seeming to revive the sufferer wonderfully, and he looked up now in Fred's eyes, as he whispered faintly—

"I was dying of thirst. I hid here—after the fight—and used to crawl at night to my old garden for food. Then I grew too weak. Master Fred, it would have been all over, if you had not come."

"Thank Heaven! I heard you," said Fred, giving the poor fellow a few more scraps of the moistened bread till he signed to him to cease, and then he looked up in his benefactor's face with a faint smile on his parched and cracked lips.

"Oughtn't you to kill me, Master Fred?" he whispered.

"Oh, Nat, don't talk like that, my lad! I can't forget the past."

"Nor can I, Master Fred. But tell me, lad, Master Scarlett? Don't say he's dead."

"No, no; I believe he's alive and well," cried Fred, eagerly. And he saw the poor fellow close his eyes and lie back, with his lips moving as if he were in prayer.

But he opened them again, and looked round wildly, as if he were slightly delirious, but as his eyes rested on Fred's face he grew calm, his lips parted, and he looked earnestly at him who was playing the good Samaritan where he lay.

"Ah, that seems to put life in me!" he sighed; "but you'll get in trouble, Master Fred, for helping such a one as me. We're enemies, don't you see?"

"Wounded men cease to be enemies, Nat," said Fred, bluntly, "so don't talk about that. You were separated from your master?"

"Yes, sir, with a sword. I don't know whose it was; but it went through my shoulder and laid open my head."

"Ah, well, don't talk. Drink a little more water, and I'll go and bring some men with a litter to fetch you away, and you shall be tended carefully; rest assured of that."

"No, no, Master Fred; let me bide here. How do I know but what Master Scar will come looking for me with some of our lads. I've been expecting them every minute, ever since I crawled in among the bushes; but it seemed a long time, and no one came, and no one—"

He ceased speaking, and lay back fainting.

Fred sprinkled and bathed his face for a few minutes, and then becoming alarmed at the poor fellow's long-continued swooning, he was about to get up and run for help, when Nat slowly opened his eyes again and his lips moved.

"Where's that Samson?" he whispered faintly.

"With my regiment."

"Not hurt badly like me, is he, Master Fred?"

"No; he has escaped wonderfully."

"I'm glad of that, sir, because I shouldn't like for anybody else to give him his lesson. That's to be my job, as soon as I get better. I'm going to take him in hand, Master Fred, and weed him. He's full o' rubbish, and I'm going to make him a better man. A villain! fighting again his own brother."

"There, Nat, drink a little more water, and eat some of this cake, and then I'll go and get help to have you carried up to camp."

"What? A prisoner? No, Master Fred. Sooner die where I am, than let that Samson see me like this, and jump upon me."

"Nonsense! Samson's a good fellow at heart, and as soon as he sees you in trouble, he'll be only too glad to help you."

"Not he, sir; he's my born enemy."

"He's your brother, and I shall send him, for one, to fetch you."

"No, Master Fred, don't; don't, pray don't, sir. Let me lie here. I don't feel the cold and wet much, and if you'd come once a day and bring me a bit o' bread and a drop o' water, I shall soon get well. Don't have me made a prisoner, sir."

"But I can't leave you helpless, and—"

He was about to add dying, but he checked himself.

"And free, Master Fred? Why not? You let me alone, sir. You've saved me this time, for I was going to die to-night. Now I'm going to live. Rather strange for enemies, sir, isn't it? Hark!"

Fred was already listening to a trumpet call, and springing to his feet, he prepared to go.

"I shall send a litter for you to be borne up to camp," he said.

"No, Master Fred, please. I'm a poor helpless thing now, not strong enough to lift a spade, but if you leave me the rest of that bread, I shall do; and if you can come and look at me once or twice, that will be all I shall want. But, Heaven bless you, sir! don't have me made a prisoner."

"Well, Nat, I shall leave you to-night, as it's going to be fine. But let me look at your wounds."

"No, sir, let them bide. I did all I could to them. Come back to-morrow, sir, and if I ain't better then, you may talk of sending me away a prisoner, with my brother Samson to stand and sneer because I am so weak."

A second trumpet call rang out, and, unable to stay longer, Fred hurried back into the open, and made his way over to the little camp, asking himself whether he had not better disregard the poor wounded man's prayers, and have him fetched out, always coming back to the conclusion that he would at all events leave him for another day, when he would take him an ample store of provision, if possible, and decide then as to his future course.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

A VAIN APPEAL.

That same night, an officer was sent with a flag of truce to the Hall, and bearing a summons to surrender.

To his intense delight at first, and intense sorrow afterwards, Fred found that it was to be his duty to bear the flag and the message to the officer in command of the little garrison.

He received his instructions and a despatch to Sir Godfrey Markham, and carrying a small white flag, and preceded by a trumpeter, he rode slowly through the evening mist, which was rising from the lake and the low meadows down by the stream, till he reached the path leading up to the Hall garden, where he stopped short, gave the order, and the man blew a cheery call, which echoed and re-echoed from the red stone walls.

Then, riding forward with his white flag well displayed, he advanced boldly to the front of the barricaded porch.

For a few minutes he sat there gazing up at the front, and wondering that no heed was paid to his coming. So still was everything, that it seemed as if the Hall had been deserted, till, happening to glance to his left, he caught sight of a dark eye at one of the windows, and directly after he realised that this eye was glancing along a heavy piece, the owner taking careful aim at him as if about to fire.

It was impossible under the circumstances to avoid a feeling of trepidation; but second thoughts came to whisper to him as it were—

"You are under a flag of truce—an ambassador, and sacred."

"But he might be ignorant, and fire," thought Fred, as he glanced to his right, where, to his horror, he saw a second man taking aim at him, and apparently only waiting the word.

Fred's first thought was that he ought to clap spurs to his horse, wheel round suddenly so as to disorder the men's aim, and gallop back for his life.

"And then," he said to himself, "how should I dare face the general and my father?"

Drawing a long breath, he sat firm, and then fighting hard to keep down his trepidation, he turned his head, and called to his follower, bidding him summon the garrison once more.

The man raised his trumpet to his lips, and blew another call, falling back again at a sign from the flag-bearer, and though he would not show that he knew of their presence, a glance to right and left told Fred that the two men were taking aim at him still.

"They dare not fire. They dare not!" he said to himself, as he sat fast; and directly after a group of showily dressed Cavaliers appeared at the large open window above the broad porch.

He could see that Sir Godfrey Markham was in the centre, with a tall fair man with a pointed beard on one side, a grey dark man on the other, and half behind him stood Scarlett, with some dozen more.

"Well, sir," said Sir Godfrey, sternly, and speaking as if he had never seen the messenger before, "what is your business?"

"I am the bearer of a despatch, sir," replied Fred, "for the chief officer here."

"That will be you, sir," said Sir Godfrey to the gentleman on his right. "Well, boy, pass the letter here."

"How, sir?"

"Put it on the point of your pike, and pass it up."

Fred did as he was bidden, and sticking the folded missive on the point of the pike which carried the white flag, he held it up, and it was taken.

"You had better retire while it is read," said Sir Godfrey, contemptuously. "I see there are two of our men paying attention to you. Rein back, if you are afraid."

It was a hard struggle, for with those two fierce-looking troopers watching him along the barrels of their pieces, Fred's inclination was still to turn and gallop away as fast as his horse would go.

But at that moment he raised his eyes, and could see that Scarlett was looking down at him, as if to watch the effect of Sir Godfrey's words.

This look seemed to stiffen him, and he sat perfectly erect upon his horse, with the pike-shaft resting upon his toe, as he told himself that he hoped if the men fired they would miss; that before he would run away, with Scar Markham to laugh at his flight, they might riddle him with bullets through and through.

"Well, sir," said Sir Godfrey, half mockingly, "are you going to retire?"

"I am under a flag of truce, Sir Godfrey," said Fred, quietly. "I thought the Royalist party were gentlemen, and knew the meaning of such a sign."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the tall Cavalier by the general's side. "That's a good sharp retort for you, Markham. Well done, youngster! Don't be afraid."

"I am not," said Fred, stoutly; but at the same time he said to himself, "Oh, what a horrible lie, when I'm all of a cold shiver."

"I didn't quite mean afraid," said the tall officer, laughing, "I meant to say that no one here shall harm you, my young ambassador. But look here, how comes it that you, who are evidently a gentleman, are taking sides with that beggarly scum of tatterdemalions who have taken up arms against their sovereign?"

"Look here, sir," said Fred, "is this meant for flattery or insult?"

"Neither one nor the other, young ferocity," said the Cavalier, laughing. "But don't look like that; you alarm me. Here, young Markham, you had better come and deal with this pernicious enemy; he is too much for me."

But Scarlett did not move, and Fred drew a deep breath, as he prepared for the next verbal encounter, for the fair Cavalier was leaning carelessly out of the window, and looking down at him till, as if fascinated by his look, and after a long struggle to keep his gaze fixed on the stonework upon a level with his nose, Fred raised his eyes, and found that the Cavalier was regarding him with a pleasant, friendly smile.

"I did not mean to affront you," he said; "I only thought it a pity that such a stout lad as you should be on the opposite side."

"Thank you," said Fred, haughtily.

"I suppose we are enemies, are we not!"

Fred nodded.

"And next time we meet you will be trying to send the point of your sword through me, or to ride me down, eh?"

"I suppose I shall try," said Fred, smiling in spite of himself, and showing his white teeth.

"Ah, it's a pity. You're going wrong way, young man. Better come in here, and fight for the king."

"Better stand up manfully for my own side, and not be a traitor," retorted Fred, hotly. "How dare you, standing there in safety, keep on this wretched temptation?"

"Wounds and wonder!" cried the Cavalier, "what a fire-eater it is. Here, I don't wonder that we are shut up helplessly here. I say, Roundhead, will you have a glass of wine?"

"Keep your wine," said Fred. "I've come on business, not to talk and drink."

At that moment, Sir Godfrey spoke to those about him, drawing back from the window, and the conversational Cavalier followed, leaving Fred sitting stiff and fretful, with all his moral quills set up, the more full of offence that he believed Scarlett was still watching him.

As he sat there, assuming the most utter indifference, and gazing with a solidity that was statuesque straight before him, he could hear a loud buzzing of voices, following the firm deep tones of Sir Godfrey Markham, who had evidently been laying the contents of the message before his companion.

"Will they surrender?" thought Fred. "I hope they will. They are debating the question. It would be a relief; and Scarlett Markham and I—no, Scar and I," he said, mentally correcting himself—"might perhaps be together again. If he would promise not to take up arms, I dare say my father and General Hedley would let him off from being a prisoner if I asked, and he could go with me to where poor Nat lies out in the wood, and look after him."

"Huzza! God save the king!"

The shout and words came so suddenly that the little horse Fred rode started and reared, and he was in the act of quieting it down, feeling the while that his ambassage had been in vain, when the party defending the Hall reappeared at the window.

"Youngster!" began Sir Godfrey, in a stern deep voice which annoyed Fred.

"When he knows me as well as he does his own son!"

"Ride back, and tell your leaders that I have laid the contents of their letter before the gallant gentlemen who are my companions here."

There was a buzz, and an attempt at cheering, which ceased as Sir Godfrey went on.

"They all join heart and soul with me in the determination to hold my home here in the name of his majesty the king, so long as there is a roof above us and a piece of wall to act as shelter, to help us keep your rascally rebellious cut-throats out of the place."

Fred felt all of a tingle, and his eyes flamed as he gazed up defiantly at the speaker.

"Tell your leaders that if they will at once lay down their arms and return to their homes, they shall be allowed to do so in peace."

"Huzza!" came from within.

"But if they still keep in arms against his majesty, they must expect no mercy. Once more. Tell your leaders that we treat their proposal with the contempt it deserves."

"As we shall treat your silly proposition, sir," said Fred, quite losing his temper at being made the bearer of such an absurd defiance from a little knot of men, completely surrounded as they were. "Am I to fully understand that you are obstinate enough to say you will hold out?"

"Look here, insolent boy," said Sir Godfrey, sternly, "you are safe— your character of messenger makes you so—but if you stay where you are in front of this my doorstep another five minutes, one of the men shall beat you away with a staff. Go!"

Fred turned white, then red, and he felt the bitterness of the general's words the more keenly from having forgotten himself and departed from his neutral position of messenger to speak as he had. He wanted to say something angry that should show Sir Godfrey and his companions, and above all, Scarlett, that he was obliged to go, but that it was on account of his duty, and not that he feared the man with the staff. But suitable words would not come, and, bubbling over with impotent wrath and annoyance, he touched his horse's flanks with the spurs, turned as slowly and deliberately as he could, and began to move away, but only to face round fiercely as the tall Cavalier at the window said banteringly—

"Good-bye, young game-cock."

There was a roar of laughter from the careless party looking on.

"You coward!"

"Not I, my lad," came back in cheery tones. "I was only joking. Good-bye, and good luck go with you, though you are a Roundhead. Think better of it; let your hair grow, and then come and ask for Harry Grey. I shall have a regiment again some day, and I shall be proud to have you at my side."

The words were so frankly and honestly said that Fred's eyes brightened, and passing the pike-shaft into his bridle hand, he raised his steel cap to the Cavalier, replaced it, and rode off, while the Royalist officer turned to Scarlett.

"As frank and sturdy a boy as I have ever met, excepting you, Scarlett Markham, of course," he added, as merrily as if there were no danger near.

"Yes, he's as true as steel," said Scarlett, flushing. "He always was."

"You know him?"

"It's Fred Forrester, Colonel Forrester's son, from the Manor. We were companions till the war broke out."

"Three cheers for bonnie Coombeland and its boys," said the Cavalier. "Why, Scarlett, my lad, we shall have to get him away from these wretched rebels. Can't it be done?"

"No," said Scarlett, gravely. "Fred is too staunch and true."

And staunchly enough, Fred, with his trumpeter behind, was riding back to camp with his message, which he delivered to General Hedley and his father.

There was a pause after he had done, and the general sat gazing straight before him.

"Well, Forrester," he said at last, "I have done my duty so far, and I must go on. We cannot leave this little nest of hornets in our rear to act as a point to which other insects will gather for the destruction of those who are fighting for their homes. It is of no use to give them time."

"No," said Colonel Forrester, sternly. "I agree with you. They must fall, or be taken to a man."

"And their blood be upon their own heads."

"Amen," said Colonel Forrester, in a deep voice; and as Fred glanced at him he saw that he was very pale, while a cold chill of dread ran through the lad's veins as, in imagination, he seemed to see stout, handsome Sir Godfrey Markham borne down by numbers, with Scarlett making frantic efforts to save him; and then all seemed to be dark—a darkness which hung over his spirit, so that he led his horse mechanically to the improvised stabling beneath the trees, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, till a voice said—

"No, no, Master Fred, I'll see to your horse;" and he turned and found Samson there, and this set him thinking about poor Nat lying helpless in the wood.



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

SAMSON VISITS HIS BROTHER.

No orders were given for attack that night, and Fred went to the rough shelter that served him for tent, to lie down, but not to sleep, for his thoughts were either at the Manor, which was to him as if it were a hundred miles away; at the Hall, where he knew that the little Royalist party were doing everything to resist the impending attack; or in the gloomy old patch of ancient forest they called the wilderness, where poor Nat lay helpless, and very little removed from death.

"I can't sleep," said Fred, at last, as he rose from his bed, which consisted of a pile of heather, over which his horseman's cloak was thrown, and impetuously hurrying out, he stood gazing up at the bright stars, with the cool moist wind from the north-west bearing to his hot cheeks the freshness of the sea.

"Perhaps dying," he said to himself at last. "I can't lie there thinking about it. I will go, at all costs, and he shall go with me."

He stepped back into his rough tent, buckled on his sword, threw the strap of a wallet over his head, and then took the remainder of his evening meal and a small flask, which he placed in the wallet. This done, he paused for a few moments, and then sought a scarf and a couple of handkerchiefs, which he also thrust into the wallet.

The next minute he was groping his way toward the place in a thick grove where the horses were picketed; and he had not far to look, on reaching his own, before finding Samson curled up in a half-sitting, half-lying position between the mossy buttresses formed by the roots of a huge beech.

Stooping down, he seized his henchman's shoulder, and shook him, but only elicited a grunt.

He shook him again, but though his act was more vigorous, it only elicited a fresh series of grunts.

"You idle pig!" cried Fred, angrily, as he administered a kick; "get up!"

Snore!

A long-drawn, deep-toned snore.

"Samson! I want you." No response. Samson's senses were so deeply steeped in sleep that nothing seemed to rouse him.

"I wish I had a pin," muttered Fred, as he kicked and shook again, without effect. "And there isn't a thorn anywhere near. Spurs!" he exclaimed. "No," he added in a disappointed tone—"too blunt. There's no water to rouse him nearer than the lake; and if there was, it would be too bad to let him go about drenched. What shall I do? Samson, get up; I want you. I'll prick you with my sword, if you don't wake up."

"Tell him the enemy's here, sir," said a sleepy man lying close by.

"Wouldn't wake him, if he did," grumbled another.

The men's remarks suggested an idea which made Fred smile, as he went down on one knee, placed his lips close to Samson's ear, and whispered—

"Well, I wouldn't let him meddle with my garden. Your brother Nat."

That one word, "Nat," seemed to run echoing through all the convolutions of Samson Dee's brain, and he started up at once, full of eagerness and thoroughly awakened, as if by a magic touch.

"Nat?" he said. "Who spoke of Nat? Here, where is he?"

"Are you awake?"

"Awake, sir? Yes, sir. I was dreaming about my brother Nat coming and interfering with our garden. Beg pardon, Master Fred, but I was dead asleep. Want me, sir? Your horse?"

"I want you to come with me."

"Yes, sir, of course," cried Samson, "Ready in a minute."

He was ready in less, for all the dressing he had to do consisted in buckling on the sword, which hung from a knot in the beech-tree, and sticking on his steel cap.

"Don't ask questions, Samson, but come along."

Fred led the way out of the camp and down by the lake, which he skirted till he had passed round the extreme end, when, to Samson's astonishment, Fred struck out straight for the wilderness.

"We going to surprise them up at the Hall, sir, and take it all by ourselves?" Samson whispered at last, for he could contain himself no longer.

"No; I am going to surprise you, Samson," was the reply, in a low whisper, as they went on, their way lying between two lines of sentinels, the outposts being posted further away, and those who hemmed in the little garrison being run right up as near as possible to the Hall, so as to guard against any sally or attempt at evasion.

"Nothing won't surprise me now," muttered Samson, as he tramped on slowly behind his leader in a very ill humour, which he did not display, for it was not pleasant for a heavy sleeper to be roused from his rest. "But it don't matter. I'm about ready for anything now. Why, what's he going to do up in the old wilderness? Oh, I know; after rabbits. Well, that's better. A biled rabbit for dinner to-morrow, and a bit o' bacon, will be like a blessing to a hungry man. Heigh—ho! ha—hum! how sleepy I do feel."

"Hist!"

"Right, Master Fred."

"There are sentinels a hundred yards to the right, and a hundred yards to the left," whispered Fred, in his companion's ear.

"Which as you haven't measured it, sir, you don't know," said Samson to himself. But replying in a whisper, he said, "Yes, Master Fred, but you didn't fetch me out of bed to tell me that."

"No; I tell you now, to keep you from yawning like the Silcombe bull."

"Well, I couldn't help it, sir; but I won't do so no more."

"Keep close behind me, tread softly, and as soon as we get up to the wilderness move every bough as carefully as you can."

"Rabbits, sir?"

"No, no. Silence! Follow me."

"'Course I'll follow him; but what's he going after? Well, I aren't surprised. Nothing surprises me now that the place is turned upside down. I don't believe I should feel surprised if my brother Nat was to want to shake hands, though that would be a startler."

Samson went on musing after his fashion, as he kept close to Fred's heels, and they went quickly and silently on over the soft wet grass, till a great black patch began to loom over them, grew more dark, and then, after a few moments' hesitation and trying to right and left, Fred plunged in, to force his way as carefully as possible, but making very slow progress toward the spot he sought, for to a great extent it was guess-work in the utter blackness which reigned around.

"I say, Master Fred?" whispered Samson, as a pause was made.

"Yes."

"You said something just now about the Silcombe bull."

"Well?"

"I wish he was here."

"Why?"

"So as to go first and make a way. I'm getting scratched all to bits."

"I think we are right. Come along."

"Come along it is, sir; but I'm getting so thirsty."

They went on for a few minutes more, and then Samson uttered an exclamation.

"Hush!" whispered Fred.

"But didn't you hear that, sir? It's the guytrash."

"Here, this way," whispered Fred. "I can find the place now."

"No, no, dear lad, don't go near it," said Samson, under his breath. "You never know what may happen, if you go near it. Don't, pray don't go."

Samson emphasised his appeal by holding tightly to his young master's jerkin, impeding his movements to such an extent that Fred turned upon him fiercely.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said, "with your guytrashes and goblins, and witches and nonsense."

"What, sir! Why, didn't you hear it moan yonder?"

"I heard a sigh."

"Well, sir, that was the guytrash calling to you to come, so as to get hold of you; and if it did I should never see you again."

"Not if it keeps as dark as this, you stupid old grub. I know what made that sound. Come along."

"What, are you going to risk it, sir, in spite of all I said?"

"Yes; I am going on there."

"Very well, sir. I didn't want to die like this in the dark, and I don't know whether weapons is of any use against things like that; but I'll stand by you, Master Fred, to the end."

As he spoke, there was a faint grating sound which attracted Fred's attention.

"Were you drawing your sword?" he whispered.

"Yes, sir."

"What for?"

"To cut the guytrash down, if I can."

"Put it away," whispered Fred, angrily. "What you have come to see wants no cutting down. It's a wounded man."

"Oh!" ejaculated Samson, as he thrust his sword back into its sheath. "Why didn't you say so sooner, Master Fred?"

"This way—this way," came back to him, accompanied by the rustling of branches and the sharp tearing noise made by thorns. "Yes; here we are."

Samson followed closely, with his arms outstretched, and in a minute or two he heard a sound which made him bend down to feel that Fred was kneeling, and the next moment talking to some one prostrate there in the darkness.

"Well, how are you?"

"Is that you, Master Fred?" came in a husky whisper, which made Samson start.

"Yes; I've brought you some bread and wine. How are the wounds?"

"Don't give me much pain, sir, now."

"Master Fred."

"Well?"

"Who's that?"

"Can't you hear, Samson? Your brother Nat."

There was utter silence for a minute, during which it seamed as if Samson was holding his breath, for at the end of that pause, he gave vent to a low hissing sound, which continued till it seemed wonderful that the man should have been able to retain so much air.

"Drink some of this," Samson heard Fred whisper; and there was the peculiar gurgling sound as of liquid escaping from a bottle, followed by another whisper bidding the sufferer eat.

"Look here, Master Fred," said Samson, as soon as he had sufficiently recovered from his surprise to speak.

"What is it?"

"Do you know who it is you're talking to there in the dark?"

"Yes; your brother Nat."

Samson remained silent and motionless as one of the trees for a minute. Then he caught Fred by the shoulder.

"What is it, Samson? Do you hear any one?"

"No, sir; I was only thinking about what I ought to do now. Just stand aside, and let me come."

"What for?"

"Well, sir, that's what I don't know. Ought I to—? You see, he's an enemy."

"Samson, we can't leave him here, poor fellow! He may die for want of attention."

"Well, sir, then there'd be one enemy the less."

"Yes. Shall we leave him to die?"

"No, sir; that we won't," said Samson, severely. "We've got to make him prisoner, taking him up to my quarters, let the doctor make him well, and then I've got to spend an hour with him, just to set him to rights and pay him all I owe. Here, you sir, do you know who I am?"

"Yes," said the wounded man, feebly.

"Then look here; you've got to come on my back, and I'm going to carry you up to the camp."

"Master Fred."

"Yes, my lad."

"Don't let him touch me," whispered Nat. "I couldn't bear to be moved, sir."

"Not if we carried you gently?"

"No, sir; I feel as if it would kill me. If you could leave me some bread, sir, and some water, and let me alone, I should get well in time. I'm only doing what the dogs do, sir, when they're hurt. I've crawled into a hole, sir, and I shall either die or get well, just the same as they do."

Fred refused to be convinced, but on trying to raise the poor fellow he seemed to inflict so much agony that he gave up, and felt disposed to return to his first ideas of coming to see the poor fellow from time to time, and giving him food.

"Better, after all, Samson," he said.

"What, leaving him, sir?"

"Yes. You do not want to see him a prisoner?"

"I don't want to see him at all, sir. He has disgraced his family by fighting against his brother. Did you bring anything to cover him up, sir?"

"No, Samson, I did not think of that."

"Well, sir, you mustn't let him die," muttered Samson; and there was a peculiar rasping sound.

"What are you doing?"

"Only getting off my leather coat, sir. Lay that over him. It may rain again any time, and he might be getting cold."

Fred caught the coat, laid it gently over the wounded man, and he was in the act of bending down to hear what he whispered by way of thanks, when there was a sharp report close at hand.

"Quick! An attack," said Fred, excitedly; and the next moment he and Samson were struggling out of the wilderness, just as shot after shot ran along the line, as the alarm spread, and directly after the ear-piercing call rang out on the clear night air, and was echoed again and again among the distant hills.



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

COLONEL FORRESTER IS NOT ANGRY.

It was no easy task to run the gauntlet of the sentinels, now that the alarm had spread, for they were falling back upon the camp, and twice over Fred was challenged, and had to run the risk of a bullet; but partly by knowing the ground far better than those who challenged, and partly from the darkness, the pair succeeded in reaching the little camp, to find all in commotion, horses saddled, men ready to mount, and an intense desire existent to know from which side to expect the attack.

After a time the hurry and excitement quieted down, for after scouts and patrols had done their work, the whole alarm was traced to one of the sentinels, who had heard whispering in the wood near which he was stationed, and had fired at once, his nearest fellow having taken up the signal, fired, and slowly fallen back.

"Better too much on the qui vive than too drowsy," said the general, at last, good-humouredly. "I was afraid, Forrester, it was an attempt on the part of the enemy to escape."

"And we could clear it all up with a word, Samson," said Fred, who was full of self-reproach.

"But don't you speak it, Master Fred," whispered Samson, who had contrived to get another jerkin. "If you tell, they'll go down to the wood, and find that brother of mine, and bring him in, and here he'll be lying in clover, and doctored up, and enjoying himself, while poor we are slaving about in sunshine and rain, and often not getting anything to eat, or a rag to cover us."

"I shall not speak, Samson, for there was no harm done," said Fred, quietly; "but I wonder at your covering your enemy from the cold."

"Needn't wonder, sir. Didn't I always cover my tender plants from the cold? It wasn't because I liked them, but so as they'd be useful by-and-by. My brother Nat will be useful by-and-by. I want him. I shall give him such a lesson one of these days as shall make him ashamed of himself."

A trumpet rang out again on the night air, and men dismounted, picketed their horses once more, and some lay down to snatch a few hours' rest, while others sat together talking and asking one another questions about the attack they foresaw would most probably take place that day, for the night was waning, and they knew that before long the dawn would be showing in the east, and that it would be morn; while, in spite of plenty of sturdy courage and indifference to danger, there were men there who could not refrain from asking themselves whether they would live to see the next day.

It was somewhere about sunrise when Fred fell asleep, to dream of being in the dense thicket, carrying Nat, the Hall gardener, on his back to the hole broken through into the secret passage, where he threw him down, and covered him up with bushes to be out of the way till he got better; but, as fast as he threw him down, he came back again, rebounding like a bladder, till Samson came to his help, drew his sword, and pricked him, when he sank down to the bottom and lay still. Then Scarlett seemed to come out of the hole and reproach him for being a coward and a rebel, seizing him at last and shaking him severely, and all the while, though he struggled hard, he could not free himself from his grasp. So tight was his hold that he felt helpless and half strangled, the painful sensation of inability to move increasing till he seemed to make one terrible effort, seized the hands which held him, looked fiercely in his assailant's eyes, and exclaimed, "Coward, yourself!"

"Well, sir, dare say I am," was the reply; "but what can you expect of a man when you take him out of his garden and make a soldier of him all at once."

"Samson!"

"Yes, sir. Breakfast's ready, sir, such as it is. What's the matter with you? I never had such a job to waken you before."

"I—I was very sound asleep," stammered Fred, rising hastily. "Did—did I say anything?"

"Pitched an ugly word at my head about not being so brave as you thought I ought to be, that's all."

"Don't take any notice of what I said, I must have been dreaming."

"That's what I often wake up and feel I've been doing," said Samson. "I often don't know whether I'm on my head or my heels; it seems so strange. Wonder how that Nat is. He always gets the best of it. Lying there with nothing to do. Just his way, sir, curling himself up snug, and letting other people do his work. There you are, sir, bucket of clean water from the lake. Have a good wash, and you'll feel like a new man. What a difference it must make to you, sir, dressing yourself out here, after having your comfortable room at home, and you so near it, too. Why, sir, the colonel might have told you to go home to sleep. Say, sir!"

"Well?" said Fred, taking his head out of the bucket of clear cold water, and feeling afterwards, as he rubbed himself dry, that new life was running through his veins.

"Wouldn't it be nice for you to run down to the Manor to breakfast, sir, and bring back a few decent things to eat? I wouldn't mind coming with you and carrying the basket."

Fred looked hard at Samson, whose face was perfectly stolid for a few moments; but a little ripple gradually spread over his left cheek, and increased till it was a broad grin.

"Well, sir, you see it is so tempting. I'd give anything for a bowl of new warm milk. When are we going to have a good forage again, so as we might catch some chickens and ducks or a young pig?"

"I'm afraid there'll be other work on hand to-day, Samson," replied Fred, sadly, as he glanced in the direction of the Hall. "There, take away that bucket."

"Yes, sir. Done you good, hasn't it? and you can dry your head. Puzzle some of them long-haired chaps to get theirs dry."

Samson went off with his young master's simple toilet arrangements, and Fred joined his brother-officers in their frugal meal, after which he spent the morning in a state of indecision.

"I will do it," he said, when afternoon had come; and, giving his sword-belt a hitch, and thrusting his morion a little on one side, he began striding forward, planting his boots down heavily on the soft heather, in which his great spurs kept catching till he at last nearly fell headlong.

Recovering himself, he went on, hand upon hip, and beating his gloves upon his thigh, till he came to where Colonel Forrester was slowly pacing up and down, with his hands clasped behind his back.

As Fred drew nearer, an orderly came up to the colonel, and presented a letter, which brought the lad to a standstill. He had been having a long struggle with self, and had mastered his shrinking, but he was so near the balance of vacillation still, that he felt glad of the excuse to hang back, and walked aside, feeling like one who has been reprieved.

"How do I know what he will say?" thought Fred, glancing back at his father's stern, wrinkled countenance as he read his despatch. "It isn't like the old days, though I used sometimes to feel shrinking enough then. It is not between father and son, but between colonel and one of his followers."

Fred felt as if he would like to walk right off; but there were those at the Hall occupying his thoughts, and he made an effort over his moral cowardice and stopped short, meaning to go to his father as soon as the messenger had left.

He had not long to wait, for the orderly saluted and rode off, but there was something else now to check him. His father looked so very severe, and as if there was something very important on his mind.

"I have chosen a bad time," thought Fred. "I'll go away and wait."

"No, no," he said, half aloud; "how can I be so foolish? I will go up and speak to him like a man. It is mean and cowardly to hang back."

He stepped toward the colonel again, but there was another reprieve for him, the general riding up; and for the next quarter of an hour the two officers were in earnest converse.

"Yes," said Fred; "I have chosen a bad time. I'll go."

But he did not stir, for at the same moment he felt that the general might be planning with his father that which he sought to prevent.

"I'll go and speak now they are together," he said to himself, desperately. "General Hedley likes me, I think, and he could not be very cross."

"No, I dare not," he muttered; and he paced to and fro again till the general touched his horse's flanks, and rode slowly away, Colonel Forrester following him thoughtfully for some distance, till in a fit of desperation Fred hurried to his side.

"Want me, my boy?" said the colonel, gravely.

"Yes, father. I want to ask you something."

"Yes; go on. I am very much occupied just now."

Fred looked at him piteously, his words upon his lips, but refusing to be spoken.

"Well, my boy, what is it? Are you in some great trouble?"

The words came in so much more kindly a tone, that Fred made a step toward his father, and the barrier of discipline gave way, and it seemed to be no longer the stern officer but the father of the old Manor house days he was longing to address.

"Well, my boy, what is the trouble?" said Colonel Forrester, kindly.

"It is about—"

Fred did not finish his sentence, but pointed across the lake.

"Ah, yes, about the Hall!" said the colonel, with a sigh. "Well, my boy, what do you wish to say?"

"Are they keeping to what was in Sir Godfrey's message, father?"

"Yes, my boy," sternly.

"But don't you think they could be persuaded to surrender?"

"Yes, Fred."

"Oh, father, I am glad," cried the boy, joyously.

"Yes, persuaded," continued Colonel Forrester, in measured tones, "with sword and gun, not till they are utterly helpless. Then they may."

"Oh, father!"

"Yes, my boy; it is very sad, but they will not see that their case is desperate."

"Is the attack to be made to-day, father?"

"I am not the general in command, my boy. That is a matter for another to decide."

"Yes; but you know, father, and you can trust me."

"Of course I can, Fred, and I will. Yes; the attack is to be made directly."

"And will it succeed?"

"It must. It shall. No. I will not interfere," he added to himself a moment later.

"And you, father?" said Fred, anxiously.

"Well, my boy, what of me?"

"You—Oh, father. Must I speak out. Don't be angry with me. I have no right to say such things to you, but I always looked upon Scar Markham as a brother, and they always treated me at the Hall as if I was a son; and it does seem so terrible for you to be going up at the head of armed men to attack our dear old friends."

Colonel Forrester stood with his brow knit.

"You are angry with me, father; but I can't help speaking. I say it seems so terrible. You ought not to do this thing."

Fred's hesitation had gone. He had taken the plunge, and now he felt desperate, and ready to speak on to the end. He gazed full in the stern face with the lowering brows, but it checked him no longer. His words came fast, and he caught his father by the arm.

"If you speak to General Hedley, he will listen to you, for Sir Godfrey is your oldest friend; and think, father, how horrible it would be if the Markhams were to be killed."

The brows appeared to be knit more closely, and Colonel Forrester's gaze seemed fierce enough to wither his son.

But Fred kept on, begging and importuning his father to do something to change the general's purpose, without obtaining any reply.

"Then you are going to lead the attack on the Hall, father?" said Fred at last.

The colonel turned upon him sharply.

"You must not, you shall not," cried Fred, excitedly. "Yes; I see you are angry with me; but—"

"No, my boy, not angry," said the colonel, gravely; "but very, very proud of you. No, my boy, I am not going to head the fight."

"Father!" cried Fred, joyously.

"And I have done more than beg General Hedley to excuse me from all participation in to-day's work."

"Then it really will be to-day?"

"Yes, my boy, it really will be to-day, and I'd give anything for this day to be past, and the worst known."

"But they will give them quarter, father?"

"Yes, my boy, of course, but who can say what may happen in dealing with fierce, reckless men, fighting as they believe for their lives. Those with whom they are engaged may be willing to take them prisoners, but they will fight with terrible desperation, incited by Sir Godfrey's example, and no one can say how the attack will end."

"Yes, father, I see," said Fred, sadly, "but could you not persuade General Hedley to give up the attack?"

Colonel Forrester was silent for a few moments, and then said sadly—

"No."

"Oh, father! think of Lady Markham and of little Lil."

"I have thought about them, my boy," said the colonel, speaking in a slow, measured voice, "and I have three times over begged of the general to spare the Hall and its defenders, and to let us go on at once."

"And what did he say?" cried Fred, eagerly.

"He asked me if it was the voice of duty speaking, or that of friendship, and what could I say?"

Fred looked at him piteously.

"How could I leave that nest of hornets to harass our rear, and gather a fresh and stronger force together, so as to be ready for the next detachment which comes along west. No, boy, I am obliged as an officer to agree with my superior that every man must be cleared out of that Hall before we can stir. Sir Godfrey Markham has his fate in his own hands."

"What do you mean, father? Surrender?"

"Of course. He shall have due respect paid to him and his followers; but it is madness to expect it of him, even for their sake."

"For their sake, father?"

"Yes, my boy. There, I may as well tell you. I am not the stern, implacable enemy you think me. I wrote to Sir Godfrey last night, asking him to surrender for his wife and daughter's sake."

"You did this, father?" cried Fred, eagerly.

"I did, my boy."

"And what did he say?"

"He sent a stern, insulting message, similar to his last, and those who were with him threatened to crop the next ambassador's ears if he dared present himself at the Hall."

"Let me go and make another appeal to Sir Godfrey."

"You heard the threat?" said Colonel Forrester, looking at his son curiously.

"Yes, I heard, father."

"And will you risk it, if I give you a message to take?"

"Yes, father, it was a vain boast. They dare not insult a messenger."

"No, my boy, you shall not go," said Colonel Forrester, laying his hand upon his son's shoulder. "It would be courting injury for no good purpose."

"But if it would save Sir Godfrey and poor Scarlett?"

"It would not, Fred."

"Don't say that, father. If I could see Scar Markham, he would perhaps listen to me; and if he did, he might have as much influence upon Sir Godfrey as I have upon you. Father, let me try."

"No, Fred, it cannot be," said the colonel, sternly. "I am not in command here. The general has sent twice, the second appeal being made through my request, and in each case the answer was an insult."

"Bit, father—"

"It is useless, my boy, so say no more. Sir Godfrey brings the assault on himself. I have done all I can. General Hedley acknowledges it, and you see I have ceased to be the stern officer to you, and have spoken kindly and in the spirit you wish."

"But one moment, father. Do you think we could persuade Sir Godfrey through Scarlett?"

"No, my boy, and I am afraid I should act precisely the same were I in his place. No more now."

"But, father, shall I be expected to go forward with the troops?"

"No. I have provided against that, Fred. You and I will not be combatants here."

"Why, father!" cried Fred, excitedly. "Look!"

"Yes," said Colonel Forrester, sadly. "They have begun. I thought it would not be long. I dreaded being in the general's confidence over this."



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

WATCHING THE ATTACK.

That which Fred had dreaded had indeed begun, for about a hundred and fifty men had been told off for the attack, and these had prepared themselves by picketing their horses, arming themselves with stout axes for the barricades, and dragging after them stout scaling-ladders.

The advance had seemed to be dilatory before, and the generally received opinion in the camp had been that the defending party, to save risk, was to be starved into submission.

But those who judged did not know the general. He had been waiting his time, for sundry reasons: respect for Colonel Forrester, and mercy, being among these; but now that he found it necessary to adopt strong coercive measures, he was prompt and quick in every step.

Fred Forrester was freed from the terrible necessity of taking part in the attack, but that did not lessen his eagerness to see what would be the result, and in consequence he hurried to the top of the nearest woodland summit, and from thence prepared to witness the issue of the fight.

As he reached the clump of beeches which crowned the hill, he caught sight of the back of some one lying at the very edge of the wood, in the commanding spot he had selected for himself, and where he had often stood to make signs to Scarlett in the old boyish days. For a moment or two he hesitated, and then approached, wondering who it could be, and taking the precaution to draw his sword, for it was not likely to be one of their own men.

It was disconcerting to find any one there, and for the moment he was ready to draw back. But, on the other hand, it might be a spy of the enemy, who had crept up there to watch their proceedings; and under these circumstances, Fred felt that there were only two courses open to him, flight or bold attack.

To make such an attack in cold blood required consideration. It was not like taking part in an exciting charge, amid the stirring din of battle, when the pulses were bounding, and the bray of the trumpet called them to advance. He, a mere youth, had to go single-handed to an encounter with a great broad-backed fellow, who, at the first brunt, might turn the tables upon him.

"But he is a spy," said Fred to himself; "and he is sure to be half afraid;" and without further hesitation, the lad advanced softly, keeping well behind.

As he drew nearer he could see that the man was upon his chest with his arms folded for a support; his morion was tilted back over his ears, so that it covered his neck, and as he watched the advance, he slowly raised first one and then the other leg, crossing them backwards and forwards, and beating the ground with his toes as if they were portions of a pick-axe.

A peculiar feeling of hesitation came over Fred again, and he found himself asking whether he ought not to go down for help, and whether there were any of the man's companions near.

This he felt was only common prudence; and, stepping back, he carefully searched among the trees and round the edge of the hill. But no, the man seemed to have come up quite alone; and, gaining confidence from this, he went softly back, taking care not to trample upon any dead twig, so as to give the alarm.

In a few minutes he was again at the edge of the wood, near enough to see that the man wore a backpiece, and that the hilt of his sword was quite near his hand.

The hesitation was gone now. A glance showed that the attacking party were near the end of the lake, and that outposts of three or four men were dotted here and there, ready to drive back or capture any of the Cavaliers who might try to make their escape.

"I'll do it," said Fred to himself; and, stooping down, he crept nearer and nearer, holding back any twig or obtruding branch with his sword, and wincing and preparing for a spring, when a bramble grated against the edge of his blade.