Crown and Sceptre Part 53

"Nay, Natty, not yet."

"Thought you might like to leave any clothes you've got to your brother."

"Well, I did think about it, Natty; but, you see, my brother's grown to be such a high and mighty sort of chap as wouldn't care for anything that wasn't scarlet and gold. I say, Natty, I have got something though as you may as well have--hidden away in the roof of my tool-shed."

"Eh? What is it?" said Nat, who was betrayed into eagerness by the idea that perhaps his brother had a pot of money hidden away in the thatch.

"Perhaps I'd better not let you have it. You're proud enough as it is."

"You can do as you like with it, of course," said Nat, with a.s.sumed indifference.

"Ah, well, it will be useful to you, if what you say's true about me.

It would be a pity for any one else to get it, wouldn't it?"

"Well, I am your brother, after all," said Nat, quietly.

"Yes, so you are, Natty; and you're just the chap to be proud of it, and wear it stuck in your steel pot. Look here, you go into the tool-shed at the Manor, first time you're that way, and as soon as you're inside the door, reach up your hand, and in the dark corner you'll find a bundle of our old peac.o.c.k's moultings when he dropped his tail. You shall have 'em, Nat, and I hope I shall live to see you with 'em in your iron cap. My! you will look fine!"

"If you wasn't such a miserable scrunched-up garden-worm of a man, I'd baste you with my sword-belt, Samson," whispered Nat, angrily.

"Thank ye, Nat, lad. Thank ye. It's very kind of you to say so. Save it up, lad, till I'm better. It will be pleasanter then for us both."

"Nat," said Scarlett just then.

"Yes, sir."

"Come here."

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

AN EXCITING WATCH.

Fred lay insensible for a few minutes, and when he did struggle back into consciousness, it seemed to him that he must be still dreaming, or else that the bewildering excitement of the civil war, with the misery, despair, and wretchedness, was all the result of his fevered imagination.

What did it all mean? he asked himself. Were they back at home, and had he fallen from the pony and struck his head against a rock? or was he over at the Hall, and was this the time when he climbed the great elm to get the magpie's nest, and had that horrible fall?

No; it was all true--this was the war time--he was badly wounded, and his enemy, Scarlett Markham, the young Cavalier, was bending over him in mocking triumph at his downfall, and revenging himself for the insult he had received in the loss of his flowing curls.

It was a cruel revenge--one which, in spite of his efforts, brought the weak tears to his eyes, and, as he closed them tightly to hide his emotion three or four great drops were shut out by the lids, and rolled slowly down on either side, tickling him for the time before they were washed away.

Then, as the time glided on, Fred opened his eyes, and looked up in Scarlett's, as he again asked himself whether it was all a dream, the consequence of his fevered state.

For there, kneeling in the straw, was Scarlett Markham, his buff gauntlet gloves thrust in his sword-belt, his cavalier hat cast aside, and his brow knit and glistening with perspiration, as he kept on dipping a white kerchief in a bowl of cold water held by some one at the back, and carefully bathed Fred's forehead.

How cool and delightful that water felt as the kerchief was opened out, and spread right across the brow from temple to temple! Then how hot it grew, till it was softly removed, to be resoaked and applied once more with all the tender solicitude that would have been shown by a woman.

Fred wanted to speak, but no words would come; he could only lie there, with his breast heaving, as he watched the calmly stern, handsome face bending over him, and thought of the past--their old boyish friendship, the delightful days when they frolicked in the park; and fished, and sought for plovers' eggs on the moor. How short a time ago it seemed, and now they were acting the parts of men fighting on either side in the terrible civil war which was devastating old England; enemies--deadly enemies, and Scarlett Markham was pouring coals of fire upon his head.

"Shall I fetch some more water, sir? This is getting quite warm," said a pleasant voice.

"Yes, I was going to ask you to get some more," said Scarlett. "Be quick, my la.s.s; we shall be called away directly."

Then Fred had a glimpse of a bonny, little, round-faced la.s.s, with red cheeks and hands, as the bowl was borne away. The straw rustled, and steps were heard upon the rough loft ladder, to be followed by the rattle of a chain, and the creaking of a windla.s.s, Fred seeming to see all as plainly as if he were there, and watching the girl's actions at the draw-well in the yard below.

And all this time the two boys gazed at each other in silence--a silence that was broken by the splash of water; then there were footsteps on the ladder again, and the red-faced la.s.s came back, knelt down behind the injured lad's head, the kerchief was soaked, and the cool refreshing water did its work.

"And we are enemies," thought Fred, with his eyes now closed, and a calm restful feeling coming over him like the beginning of sleep, from which he started, for there was the loud trampling of horses, the jingling of accoutrements, and the brazen bray of a trumpet.

Scarlett started up, shook the water from his hands, s.n.a.t.c.hed up his broad-leafed hat, and took his gloves from his belt.

"Bathe his forehead for a few minutes longer, and then let him sleep.

We shall be back before many hours, but the surgeon will be here before then."

"Yes, sir."

"And tell your father that General Markham will see that he is paid for all his trouble."

"Oh, sir," said the girl, "you need not think of that. We'll do our best."

By this time Scarlett was at the door, and Fred had turned his eyes toward him, but he did not look back.

"Come, Nat," he cried loudly; and his follower stumped over the rough straw; the steps creaked, and voices were heard below. Loud orders followed. Then the trumpet brayed out again, the trampling of horses followed, and the girl set down the bowl, and went to the end of the loft, where she climbed up and looked through the little window, staying there till the trampling of the horses had died away.

"Gone," she said, as she returned to Fred's side, and prepared to bathe his brow once more.

"No," he said gently; "let me sleep now. But haven't I seen you before?"

"Yes, sir; you came here and brought Captain Markham and the prisoners,"

said the girl, turning a deeper red, as she recalled her own action upon that occasion, and gazed suspiciously in his face for signs that he knew of all that she had done.

"Yes, I remember now."

"And I suppose you were wounded when they were rescued by a party of the king's horse?"

"Yes," sighed Fred. "I thought I remembered you. The little inn near the moor."

"Yes, sir. Father's inn."

"And you are Royalists, I suppose?"

"I don't know what we are, sir. We only wish the war was over, and we want to do all we can for the poor wounded folk."

"For rebels, too?" said Fred, bitterly.

"For any one who is in trouble, sir; and if you don't want me to bathe your head again, I'll go and attend to your servant. Father says there's nothing like clean cold water for a cut."

"Yes, go and help the two poor fellows; but, one moment--there was quite a regiment there, was there not?"

"Yes, sir; the greater part of one. Came from the town."