Crown and Sceptre Part 62

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

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

Bring them in at once."

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

General Hedley consents, and I want you to come and fetch them here."

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

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

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

"I will be ready in a few minutes."

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

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

She ran forward, and held out her hand.

"And it's like the sweet music of the birds to hear yours, mistress,"

said the rough fellow, kissing the extended hand.

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

HOW SCARLETT VISITED HIS MOTHER.

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

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

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

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

She softly sank upon her knees beside her child in the darkness of the sombre chamber, and through a broken cas.e.m.e.nt the bright starlight shone down, shedding sufficient l.u.s.tre to show the two upturned faces with their closed eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_C-r-r-rack_!

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

Not another sound.

Should he fire and give the alarm?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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