Fred's way across the fields to the Manor was among sweet autumn scents,
and with moth and bird taking his attention at almost every step.
The white owl was out, with its peculiar grating cry; so was the tawny
owl, breaking forth into its loud hail--_hoi-hoi-hoi_! Skimming about
the oak-trees he saw the nightjars again, every swoop meaning death to
some unfortunate moth or beetle.
But all these objects were too familiar to call for more than a passing
glance as the boy hurried on. Down in the hollows the mists were
gathering and floating a little way above the ground, as if there were a
fire near, while far away in the east a bright planet burned like silver
opposite to the warm glow left in the west.
"Hurrah! there we are," cried Fred, as he topped the last hill, and
looked down at the lights which showed where home lay; and he was not
long in getting over the ground, almost quicker than he was satisfied
with, for he was making his plans for the next morning respecting the
discovery of the entrance to the passage.
For the whole of the incidents in connection with the secret chamber had
thoroughly excited him, and he felt as if he could not rest till he had
found out everything about the place.
To his great surprise, as he entered the house, he found that supper was
not begun.
"Been waiting for me, mother?" he cried to the calm, sweet-faced lady
seated working by the light of rather a dim candle.
"No, Fred," she said, smiling gravely, as she drew him down and kissed
his brow.
"Because I had mine with Scar. Where's father?"
"In the library. He has a gentleman with him."
"Gentleman?"
"Yes; he has come from Bristol to see your father on business."
"Oh!" said Fred, carelessly; and he sat down and rested his head upon
his hand.
"Does your head ache, my boy?" asked his mother.
"Head? No, mother. I was only thinking," said the boy, as his mother's
words brought him back from wandering in the water-floored passage.
"Thinking of your studies?"
Fred started a little, for his studies had been rather neglected of
late.
"No, mother, only of a hunt Scar and I had in the Hall woods to-day."
It was in the boy's heart to tell his mother all that had passed, and
their discovery from beginning to end, but he argued, "If I do, it will
not be a secret any longer."
There was a pause.
"Father said that a well-intentioned boy would have no secrets from his
father and mother, and that they should be always looked upon as his
best friends. But it isn't mine altogether," argued Fred, after another
very long pause; "and I've no business to tell Scar's secret to any one
till he has told it to his own father and mother; and, besides, as it's
a private place, they would not like any one to know about it, and--"
"Yes, Forrester, we may throw away all compunction now," said a loud,
firm voice; and Fred rose from his seat as his father entered in company
with a tall, broad-shouldered man, whose grizzled, slightly curly hair
was cut very close to his head, and whose eyes seemed to pierce the boy,
as he gave him a sternly searching look. He had a stiff, military
bearing, and he did not walk down the long low room, but seemed to march
rather awkwardly, as if he had been riding a great deal.
He nodded familiarly to Mistress Forrester, who looked at him in rather
a troubled way, as he marched straight to Fred, slapped him sharply on
the shoulder, and gripped it so hard as to give him acute pain. But the
boy did not flinch, only set his teeth hard, knit his brow, and gazed
resentfully in the visitor's dark eyes, which seemed full of malice and
enjoyment in the pain he was giving.
"So this is Fred, is it?" he said in a harsh voice, which sounded as if
he was ordering Colonel Forrester to answer.
"Yes, sir," said Mistress Forrester, with dignity, "this is our son;"
and she looked wonderfully like her boy in the resentful glance she
darted at her guest, for she could read Fred's suffering.
"Hah! made of the right stuff, like his father, Mistress Forrester. Did
that hurt you, my boy?"
"Of course it did," said Fred, sharply.
"Then why didn't you cry out or flinch, eh?"
This was accompanied by a tighter grip, which seemed as if the
stranger's fingers were made of iron.
The grip was but momentary, and the boy stood like a rock.
"Well," said the stranger again, "why didn't you cry out?"
"Because I would not," replied the boy, frowning.
"Shake hands."
Fred tried to hold back, but the command was so imperious, and the firm,
sinewy hand before his face seemed to draw him, and he laid his own
within it, to feel the fingers close in a warm but gentle grasp, the
pressure being firm and kindly; and in place of the fierce look a
pleasant, winning expression came into the visitor's countenance, while
the left hand was now clapped upon the boy's shoulder, and closed in a
pressure as agreeable as the other was harsh.
"Glad to know you, my lad. That's frank and manly of you. The right
stuff in him, Mistress Forrester. He'll make a good man, colonel.
Well?"
"I didn't speak, sir," said Fred, in answer to the question and look.
"That's right, too. Don't be in too great a hurry to speak," said the
visitor; and somehow, to his own astonishment, Fred felt himself drawn
toward this imperious personage, who seemed to take command of every one
in the place. "Well, Forrester, you'll make a soldier of him."
"I--"
The hesitatingly spoken pronoun came from Mistress Forrester, who seemed
checked by the guest's quick look of reproof.
"I had not decided yet," said Colonel Forrester, gravely; and Fred
noticed that his father seemed to have suddenly grown rigid and stern in
manner and tone of voice. "What do you say, Fred? should you like to be
a soldier?"
"Yes, father; like you have been."
"No, no, Fred, my boy!" cried his mother.
"Madam," said their guest, "ladies do not always understand Latin, but a
certain Roman poet called Horace once said, `_Dulce et decorum est pro
patria mori_'. Let me modify it by saying, `to offer in time of need to
die for your country.' It does not follow that a man who fights for his
home and liberty dies. Good lad. Be a soldier."
"I will, sir," said Fred, firmly. "Father didn't die, mother."
"No, nor you shall not, my boy. There, now, we know one another, and I
hope we shall become well-tried friends."
"But I don't know you yet, sir. You have not told me your name."
The visitor clapped Fred on the shoulder again, and there was a merry,
kindly light in his eyes as he cried--
"Come, I like this, Forrester. Your Coombeland boys are the genuine,
frank English stuff. Fred, my lad, I like your out-spoken ways. From
some lads it would have been insolence, but from you it seems sturdy,
honest independence. You may know me for the present, my boy, as
Captain Miles."
"Miles, a soldier," said Fred to himself but the visitor heard him.
"Right," he cried. "Miles, a soldier. Mistress Forrester, I
congratulate you on your home and surroundings. And now, pardon my
frankness, I have travelled far to-day and I journey far to-morrow, I am
a-hungered and a-thirst, madam; and afterwards, as your good husband and
tried soldier and I have done our business, I shall be glad to press a
pleasant west-country bed."
With winning courtesy, but at the same time with a half-shrinking,
troubled look in her eyes, Mistress Forrester led the way to the table,
and as soon as he was seated the guest seemed to cast off his imperious
military manner, and become the courtly scholarly gentleman who had read
much, travelled far, and thought deeply. So pleasant and interesting
was his conversation that Fred grew more and more attracted by him, and
listened with wide-open eyes to all he said.
Only once did the business-like, firm and decisive officer appear after
supper, when he suddenly apologised and rose.
"I have an old-fashioned way of looking after my best friends, Mistress
Forrester," he said. "At the present moment, on this journey, my horse
is one of my best friends. You will excuse my visiting him?"
"If you will trust me, Captain Miles," said Colonel Forrester, placing
some emphasis on the name, "I can promise you that your good horse has
everything that will help him to make a long journey to-morrow."
"I do trust you, Forrester," said the visitor, smiling. "I would I had
ten men like you, and as worthy of trust."
As he spoke, he subsided into his chair, but Fred was already on his
legs.
"I'll go and see after the horse," he said.
The visitor gave him a kindly approving nod, and the boy left the room.
"How old is he, Mistress Forrester?" he said.
"Sixteen," replied the hostess, sadly.
"Just on the dawn of manhood, madam. Hah, Forrester, old friend, it is
a grand thing to be sixteen, and with life before you. God bless all
boys! How little they know how grand a thing it is to be young!"
There was silence after this speech--a silence which lasted till Fred
entered eagerly.
"The horse is quite right, sir," he cried.
"How do you know, boy?"
"How do I know, sir? Because he is eating his corn so well, and feels
so comfortable and cool. I say--"
"Well?"
"He's a fine horse."
"Yes. So he is. A splendid fellow. There, my kind hosts, I'll say
good night. I would I had come on another mission, but it is only duty,
and you must forgive me. I shall be off at dawn. Good night, madam.
Good night, Forrester. I knew I could depend on you. Good night, my
boy. You'll forgive me for pinching your shoulder so hard. It was to
try your mettle."
"Oh, I didn't mind," cried Fred. "Good night, sir; and when I do become
a soldier, will you have me in your regiment?"
"I will," thundered out the guest. "Forrester, that's a bargain. Good
night."
There was silence in the room as the two men went out together; and as
soon as the door was closed, Mistress Forrester dropped into the nearest
chair, and covered her face with her hands.
"Mother, dear mother," cried Fred, going on his knees before her, and
throwing his arms about her neck, "you are crying because I said I would
be a soldier!"
"No, my boy," she said, looking up, "I was weeping for the evil days in
store for us all. Heaven be with us, and guide us all aright. Good
night, my boy, good night."
Fred kissed her tenderly, and suffered her to lead him to the door on
his way to his room.
He passed his father on the stairs, and there was a troubled look in the
colonel's eyes, as he bade his son good night.
A quarter of an hour after, Fred was in bed dreaming of secret passages,
and the captain helping him to fight men in rusty armour after they had
won their way to the inner chamber where the old arms lay; and then it
seemed to him that he heard the trampling of horses, and he woke to find
it was morning, and the sun shining into his room.