"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 casement the bright starlight shone
down, shedding sufficient lustre 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 horsemen, 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-glass 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.
Meanwhile, Lady Markham was seated at the window, with Lil's hand
clasped in hers, waiting, as it were, for that something which seemed as
if it would happen. No great wonder, at a time when change succeeded
change with marvellous rapidity. They had neither of them spoke for
some time, till suddenly Lil pressed her mother's hand.
"What is it, dear?"
"Listen!"
Lady Markham bent forward, and remained silent for some minutes before
saying--
"I heard nothing, Lil."
"I thought I heard horses a long way off. Oh!"
She started violently, for there was a sharp, but faint tap on the panel
of the door, as if some one had sharply loosened one finger-nail with
the other.
Neither stirred for a few moments, and then the sharp cracking sound was
repeated.
Lady Markham did not hesitate, but walked across to the door.
"Who is there?" she said in a low, firm voice.
There was a faint rustle, as of some one moving a hand over the door
outside, and then from low down came a low--
"Hist!"
It was from the keyhole without a doubt, and stooping, Lady Markham
repeated her question, placing her ear close to the keyhole, as she
listened for the answer.
That reply sent the blood thrilling through her veins, as it was
whispered through the keyhole, and for the moment, she felt giddy with
anguish, love, and fear.
It came again, with an addition.
"Mother! Open! Quick!"
With her hands trembling so that they almost refused their office, she
turned the key, felt a strong grasp on the handle, the door was thrust
open softly, closed, and locked, as she stood trembling there, and a
pair of arms were clasped around her neck.
"Mother, dearest mother!"
"Scar, dear Scar, me too," whispered Lil, for Lady Markham was
speechless with emotion.
Brother and sister were locked in a loving embrace, and then Lil shrank
away.
"Scar," she whispered; "why you are all wet."
"Yes," he said, with a half-laugh. "I had to swim across part of the
lake."
"Oh, my boy, my boy, how did you get here?" whispered Lady Markham.
"Oh, I found a way, mother dear."
"But your father? Oh! There is no bad news?"
"No, no; don't tremble so. He is quite well, and not many miles away."
"Thank Heaven!" she sighed; "but, Scar, my darling, you do not know."
"Oh yes, I do, dear," he said calmly; "the house is full of rebels, and
they have their outposts everywhere. I have had a fine task to get here
without being seen."
"And you must not stay a moment, my darling. You must escape before you
are discovered."
"Hush! don't speak so loudly; we may be heard. There is no danger, if
you keep still."
"But, Scar, my boy, why have you run this terrible risk?"
"Soldiers have to run risks, mother. My father, who is at Ditton, with
a strong body of horse, was terribly anxious about home. A spy came in
and said the rebels were in this direction, so I said I could make my
way here and get news, and he trusted me to come. That's all."
"But if you are taken, Scar?"
"I don't mean to be taken, mother. I shall go back as I came. Rebel
sentinels are clever, but some people can manage to elude them."
"Oh, my boy, my boy!"
"Don't--don't fidget, dear, like that. I tell you there is no risk.
But I must not stay long."
"Are you sure no one saw you come?"
"Quite certain. But I am sorry that I have such poor news to lake back.
But, mother dear, they have treated you with respect?"
"Oh yes, my boy. Fred Forrester's with them."
"Ah!" ejaculated Scarlett, angrily.
"And he has been most respectful and kind."
"For a traitor."
"Do not speak harshly of him, Scar."
"Not I; but have they sacked the place?"
"No, no. Nothing has been touched."
"I'm glad of that, for poor father's sake. He will be enraged when he
knows they have taken possession here."
"But he is in no danger, Scar?"
"Not more than usual," said Scarlett, grimly.
"And when is he coming home?" said Lil, thoughtfully.
"Coming home, Lil! Ah, who can say that? Well, I must soon be going.
If I stay, it is to be taken prisoner."
"My darling!"
"Hush, mother! the sentries may hear you speak. They are all around."
"I will be careful, dear," she whispered. "Then you must go? So soon?"
"Yes; and it is bad news to take to my father, but he will not care when
he hears that you are safe and well. What's that?"
He ran softly to the window, and they realised that he was barefooted,
and only dressed in light breeches and shirt.
There was the sound of a challenge, a reply, and then the trampling of
horses came through the open casement.
Lady Markham seized her son's hand as he stood listening at the deep
mullioned window, while Lil clung to the other.
"A fresh detachment joined, I suppose," whispered Scarlett, as he drew
back. "Perhaps I had better wait half an hour before I go back."
"Oh, Scar, Scar!" half sobbed Lil.
"And you so cold and wet, my darling," sighed Lady Markham.
"Pish! what of that. I don't mind. I would not go so soon, for it is
quite delightful to be with you again, but I must be right away before
it's light, and one never knows how far one may have to go round to
escape notice from the enemy's men. They seem to swarm about here,
mother."
Lady Markham could say nothing, only kiss and embrace her boy, torn as
she was by conflicting emotions--the desire to keep him, and that of
wishing him safe away.
All at once, Scar started from his mother's encircling arm, and darted
to the window, but only to draw back, for there were two sentinels
talking just beneath.
Then he ran to the door, but drew back, for steps of armed men were
heard coming along the corridor, and escape was cut off there.
"Caught," he said grimly. "Poor father will not get his news."
At that moment there was the sharp summons of a set of knuckles on the
door.