It seemed to Fred Forrester a strange stroke of fate, when, after three
days' slow and steady advance, feeling their way cautiously, as if at
any hour they might meet the enemy, he rode with the advance to take
possession of the Hall, for in spite of the colonel offering his own
home again, the general kept to his decision that the Hall was the more
suitable place for head-quarters.
The day was bright as one of those when, full of boyish spirits, he used
to run over to spend the day with Scarlett Markham; and where was he
now? A fugitive, perhaps; who could say where? And Sir Godfrey, where
was he?
Fred felt very sad as he rode on, with the horses' hoofs trampling
deeply into the soft green turf. But how beautiful it all seemed, with
the rich red-brown stone of the old house contrasting so well with the
green of the stately trees. The lake glistened like a sheet of silver
in the sunshine, and all seemed familiar and welcome, and yet somehow as
though connected with his life long, long ago, and as if it was
impossible it could have been so short a time since he was a boy, and
played about there.
"I hope the men will be careful," he found himself thinking; "and that
every one will be respectful to Lady Markham."
He had not much time for thought after that, for the men were halted on
the level grass land in front of the terrace garden, and he found
himself one of the officers who, after an advance guard had ridden up to
the front, and others had been despatched to form piquets surrounding
the place, rode up in the train of the general.
To Fred's surprise, Lady Markham and her daughter came to the broad step
in front of the entrance, and the general touched his horse's sides with
the spurs, and rode up.
Fred was so near that he heard every word, and he bent forward, looking
in vain for some token of recognition from the pale, careworn lady and
her shrinking daughter, who received the general.
The latter saluted Lady Markham gravely.
"I regret to trouble you, madam," he said; "but we are compelled to take
possession of your house for the present."
Lady Markham bowed coldly.
"We are at your mercy, sir," she said.
"Nonsense, madam!" cried the general, shortly. "You and the pretty
young lady there by your side need not talk about mercy. The stern
necessities of war bring us here, so all I have to say is, be good
enough to reserve such apartments as you need for yourselves. You and
your servants will be perfectly unmolested."
Lady Markham bowed once more.
"The housekeeper is here," she said, "and will provide all we have. We
have no men-servants now, to show where the stables and granary lie."
"Pray don't trouble yourself about these matters, madam. My men will
find what they want, and I dare say," he added sarcastically, "unless
General Markham comes to look us up, and forces us to make more
reprisals, we shall ride away, and you will find the Hall little the
worse for our visit."
A sudden change came over Lady Markham at the mention of her husband's
name, and after a few minutes' hesitation, she stepped out to stand with
joined hands, looking supplicatingly at the general.
"My husband?" she said imploringly, "is--is he well?"
"You ask me a question I cannot answer, madam," said the general, taking
off his morion, and speaking in a quiet sympathising voice. "But there
is one of my young followers who may be able to give you some
information."
He turned and made a sign to Fred, who touched his horse's flanks, and
rode forward with a peculiar singing noise in his ears.
"You!" said Lady Markham, looking at the young officer in a startled
manner, and then turning from him with a look of disgust, while he saw
that Lil shivered.
"They look upon me as if I were some one who had been the cause of all
this," he thought; but his countenance lightened directly, as Lady
Markham turned to him again, and said gently--
"Forgive me, Fred. This meeting brought up the past. It seemed so
terrible that my boy's companion should be among our enemies."
As she spoke, she held out her hand, which Fred seized and held for a
few moments before he could speak, and when he did give utterance to his
words, they were in a voice broken by emotion.
"I am not your enemy, Lady Markham," he said. "I would do anything to
spare you pain. Lil, won't you shake hands?"
The girl hesitated for a few moments, and then held out her little hand
timidly, but only to turn to her mother directly, and cling to her as
she strove to keep back her sobs.
"Ask him--ask him," she whispered.
"Yes. Tell us, Fred--my poor boy," said Lady Markham, in a low voice,
so as to be unheard by the soldiers close at hand. "Where is my
husband?"
"The last I heard of him, Lady Markham, was that he was with the Cornish
men beyond Plymouth. They are all on the king's side there."
"But was he safe and well?"
"Yes; quite safe and well, and Scarlett--"
"Yes; pray go on. I dared not ask, for fear of hearing bad news."
"I heard that he was quite well, too, and acting as his father's
aide-de-camp."
"Thank Heaven!" sighed Lady Markham, piously. "It is so long since we
had heard from them. Now I can feel more at rest."
She seemed to gain strength from the news; and after a pause she went
on--
"Tell your leader," she said, "that I am grateful, for my child's sake.
He has been most courteous. I did not expect this consideration."
"Oh, Lady Markham, I am sure that you have nothing to fear. The
discipline is so strict among our men. They will only take food and
shelter for a night or two. Any act of disorder would be punished."
Lady Markham drew a breath of relief.
"You are our enemy, Fred," she said softly, "and when we meet again, I
shall not forget to tell my husband of the treatment we have received.
There, Lilian and I will go to our room. You know the place by heart.
See that everything is done for your officers' comfort. Let them learn
that Sir Godfrey Markham can show hospitality, even to his foes."
She bowed stiffly, and, taking her daughter's hand, was withdrawing into
the house, when Lil snatched her hand away, and stepped quickly to
Fred's side.
"I hate you," she whispered. "You are dear father's and Scar's cruel
enemy; but please, please, Fred, don't let them do us any harm."
"Don't be afraid, dreadful enemy," said Fred, smiling, as he saw the
depth of his old playmate's hatred. "I'll do everything I can, Lil
dear, for all your sakes. Good-bye, if I do not see you again."
She gave him a quick look, which seemed in an instant to bring up sunny
days when he had swung her on the lawn, rowed on the lake, and climbed
the apple-trees to get her fruit; and then she was gone, and he was
listening to the trampling of horses, the shouting of orders, and he was
called away.
Directly after, he was making use of his knowledge of the place to
fulfil Lady Markham's wishes, and over these he worked the harder,
because he felt that by hastening the production of the necessaries for
the troops, much waste and destruction would be spared.
The result was that in less than an hour the Hall was occupied by the
little force, which was in high good humour with its pleasant quarters,
while sentries were put in different directions, and every precaution
taken against surprise.
"Capital quarters, my boy," said the general, as he sat with his
officers in the old oak dining-room; "and I wish your father was here to
share them. But you have not taken care of yourself in all this
business."
"Oh, I have snatched a little food, sir," replied Fred. "I'm not
hungry, but--"
"Well, what is it? Speak out. What do you want?"
Fred hesitated for a moment, as if collecting himself.
"You know that the Manor is only two miles from here, sir?"
"Eh? So near. No; I knew it was somewhere about this part," said the
general, smiling. "Oh, I see, my boy. Well, it's quite right, but
risky. And besides, we may stay here a week or we may stay a minute.
How do I know how soon the enemy may rout us out? No, Fred, my boy,
love must give way to duty. I cannot spare my young officer, even to go
and see his mother, much as I should like to say `Yes.'"
"You mistake me, sir," said Fred, colouring a little. "I would not have
asked leave at this busy time for that."
"Then what do you want, my boy?"
"Lady Markham and her daughter, sir. This is no place for them."
"Humph! No. But we have no time for paying attentions to ladies."
"No, sir; but what I want to do is a little thing. We may stay here
some time, and other troops join us."
"Yes, I am expecting reinforcements. What do you want to do?"
"As this may be quite a rendezvous for some time, to get them away."
"I cannot undertake such duties, my boy; but Lady Markham and her
daughter are free to go anywhere."
"Thank you, sir. That is what I want; but the only asylum for them is
our old home, and they would not go there unasked."
"Well, ask them."
"It would be of no use."
"My good lad, I am tired out. I want to snatch a few hours' sleep.
What is it you want?"
"I want to take half a dozen men to ride over and fetch my mother here.
They were once dear friends, and if my mother came, she could persuade
Lady Markham, for her child's sake, to go back with her."
The general sat frowning for a few minutes, during which he poured out a
little wine in a long Venice glass, filled up with water, and drank.
"Yes," he said in a quiet, decided voice, as he set down his glass,
"take a sergeant and half a dozen--no, a dozen men, ride over and do the
business as quickly as you can, so that the men and their horses may get
back and rest. It means a double journey, you see. No; no thanks.
Despatch!"
Fred looked his thanks, and retired with the promptness loved by his
leader; and a very short time later, just as the turret clock was
striking ten, he rode out with his little detachment, being challenged
again and again by the mounted sentries placed along the road which
skirted the west end of the lake.
"Only think of it, Master Fred," whispered Sergeant Samson Dee, as they
rode slowly along beneath the light of the stars--"going home in this
way. What will the mistress say?"
They were not long in hearing.
As they rode over the familiar ground, Samson was very silent, for he
was thinking of the old garden, while Fred felt a swelling sensation at
his breast as every object so well-known peered cut of the surrounding
darkness. There was the pond in which Dodder took refuge one day after
he had broken out of the field to escape capture, and there stuck so
tightly in the mud that cart ropes had to be thrown over him, and he was
dragged out looking the most drenched and deplorable object possible.
There, looming up under the stars, was the great hollow elm where the
owls regularly bred and slept all day. Another minute, and the horses'
hoofs were slashing up the babbling water of the stream which crossed
the road--the tiny river where they had so often waded after trout and
stone loaches.
There at last, calm and still in the starlight, lay the Manor, and the
young officer felt a wild kind of joy, which he had to fight down, lest
he should seem childish before his followers, for the impulse of the
moment was to leap from the horse and rush through the garden, over the
lawn, and up to the doorway, shouting for joy.
But discipline, the desire to seem manly, and a strange feeling of dread
kept him calm and stern beyond his years, the feeling of dread soon
dominating the other sensations. For how could he tell but that a party
of the enemy had ridden up to his dear old home, as they had that
evening ridden up to Scarlett's, and were perhaps behaving with far less
consideration than they had shown? and how did he know that his old
habitation was not a ruin, and his mother a wanderer far away.
A curious dimness came over his sight at these terrible thoughts, and he
felt as if he were going to fall from his horse. His old injuries
throbbed and stung, and it seemed to him that his fears were correct,
for the old Manor did not look as it should be. Surely the windows were
all bare of glass, the great chimney stack was down, and the ivy which
clothed the front torn away and scorched by fire.
The giddy sensation increased, and he involuntarily clutched the pommel
of his saddle as he bent forward, staring wildly at the dear old place,
when he was suddenly brought to himself by the voice of Samson, who said
aloud--
"All fast asleep. Oh, Master Fred, I wonder how my dear old garden
looks."
The misty, giddy sensation had gone, and in a firm voice Fred cried,
"Halt!"
For there before him, dimly seen in the starlight, lay the old Manor,
quite unscathed, for the tide of war had not yet swept over that part of
the pleasant land.
Fred dismounted, passed through the little oaken gate, and walking up
the path, was about to rap at the door with the hilt of his sword.
But the trampling of horses and a loud neigh like a challenge had
awakened those within. A well-known casement was opened, and a familiar
voice exclaimed--
"Who's there?"
"Mother!" whispered Fred, hoarsely.
There was a cry of joy from the open window; then a clicking noise of
flint and steel, a light gleamed blue and faint on the ivy leaves which
framed the casement; then a brighter light, and in a few minutes the
lower windows were illumined; there was the sound of the bolts being
shot, and directly after Fred was in the little hall, clasped in his
mother's arms.
"My boy!" she whispered in a deep voice. Then, in a quick, agitated
manner, "Your father?"
"Safe and well, mother."
"And you have come to stay? Thank God, thank God."
"No, not to stay," he cried earnestly, "but to ask you to perform a
duty, an act of kindness towards--"
"Some wounded men? Yes, yes, my boy; bring the poor fellows in."
"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."