The Rider in Khaki Part 24

"There's folks been put in that place never saw the light o' day again.

Do you believe it's haunted?"

Carl made no reply for a few moments, then said:

"It may be; I shouldn't be surprised. I'm more inclined to believe you since I've been inside."

"I thought as how you would. Seeing's believing," said Tom.

"But I tell you I did not see anything. I heard sounds."

"Ah!" exclaimed Tom. "What like were they?"

"Groans!"

"It's them ye heard, the spirits of the dead; the poor devils never rest in peace," said Tom.

They were going across the moat. There was a splash and both started; Tom almost dropped the oar.

"What's that?" he said. "Look!" and he pointed to the ripples in the dark water circling.

"A fish rising," said Carl with a queer little laugh.

"There's no fish in here, don't believe there's even a carp in."

"Why not?"

"What 'ud fish be doing in this beastly hole?"

"Feeding."

"Nothing to feed on."

"You don't know what's at the bottom of that," said Carl, pointing downward.

"And I don't want to. If it's fish, I'd not eat them," said Tom.

They walked back to the keeper's cottage. Jane met them at the door, surprised to see the state of Carl's clothes. She asked where he had been.

"Exploring the moat and the keep," he replied, thinking her pretty face was a great help to banish phantoms.

Jane laughed as she said:

"You've had a fright. Keep away from the place, it's haunted; there's danger when you meddle with 'em."

"I saw nothing in the keep. I told your father so."

Jane shook her head as she replied:

"Best say nothing about it; keep those things to yourself."

"Have you ever seen things there?" asked Carl.

"Telling's knowing," said Jane, but without smiling.

CHAPTER XV

A SUDDEN PROPOSAL

War was declared against Germany on that fateful day in August; the blow had fallen at last, the nations of the earth were about to measure their millions, and England was unprepared. There was no doubt about the strength of feeling in Britain; every man was for war, with the exception of a few cranks and peacemongers, many of them little better than traitors to their country.

There was a call to arms; it echoed, reverberated, throughout the land; and never was such a voluntary response by any nation. There is little need to write about it; everybody knows how "Kitchener's chaps" rolled up in thousands, to their everlasting honor. By their response they showed the spirit of the nation, roused at last to a sense of horrible danger. Throughout the land there were martial sounds--the hum of camps, the tramp of men, the clang of horses' hoofs, the rattle of war department wagons. Before people had time to rub their eyes and become wide awake, an army had landed in France, eager to help gallant little Belgium, and stop the rush of the enemy's vast hordes.

The Sherwoods were mustered in Trent Park. A n.o.ble array they made, splendid men, well mounted and equipped, eager to get at the foe.

Captain Alan Chesney was with them, his house the headquarters of the regiment. They had not to wait long; they were in luck's way, one of the first cavalry regiments ordered to the front.

Alan, busy preparing for his departure, had barely a minute to spare, but he made time to call on a few friends, and Eve Berkeley was one of the last. He rode to The Forest in uniform, looking every inch a soldier. He stood in the room waiting for her, his fingers drummed impatiently on the mantelpiece; he wanted to be away, the fighting spirit of the soldier was roused again when he put on khaki. He longed for war--and the front.

For some years he had been a peace soldier, spending money freely, having plenty of spare time, although he was never a laggard and loved the drill and discipline. Now it was different; they were off to the front, where the battle already raged furiously and danger threatened France, as in the former war and from the same source, with many times the strength.

Eve came in. She looked at her best. She knew he was coming and had been thinking of him. There was danger ahead for the man she loved; it was possible she might not see him again. She dare not think of that, it was terrible.

He turned round quickly and came to her, taking both her hands.

Looking into her eyes he could not fail to see the light in them; it dazzled but did not blind; it opened his to what was hidden behind the electric flashes in hers. For a few moments there was silence. Then he said:

"I am come to say goodbye, Eve, my old playmate, my best friend."

His voice was well under control, no tremor, but it vibrated and played on her heart-strings. She was agitated; she had been counting on this parting, thinking what might happen, re-changing many things.

"We leave to-morrow, or the next day. I go to London to-night. I cannot tell you our destination, but I can guess it."

Still she did not speak, and he went on:

"We shall give a good account of ourselves, the Sherwoods. Many of us will not return, but something tells me I shall come through it all and live."

"How I shall miss you!" she said. "It will be in fear and trembling I open the paper each morning and scan the lists. But you are doing right; no man can hang back at such a moment. You are glad to be in uniform again?"

"Indeed I am. I feel as though I had never been out of it," he answered.

"You look splendid," she said.

"This morning you are at your best," he replied.

"You were coming to see me, I wanted you to carry away a good impression," she said, smiling.

"I shall often think of you, Eve, and your many gracious actions. By Jove, you are a brick--there's n.o.body like you," he said enthusiastically.