It was not easy to think and lay plans in such a position as that in
which Scarlett Markham found himself. His temples throbbed painfully,
his head swam, and at every exertion it seemed to him as if hot molten
lead were rolling from side to side of his head. But the cool damp air
came by him in a continuous draught, and feeling now that before long
the narrow passages and the little chamber beyond must certainly grow
heated in the conflagration, perhaps be swept away in the general
destruction, he set himself the task of getting Sir Godfrey upon his
back, and, after several failures, found that his first step in that
direction must be to unbuckle and cast aside the defensive armour his
father wore.
This done, the steel falling on the stone floor of the passage with a
heavy clang, he once more tried, successfully, and, bending beneath the
weight of his load, traversed the narrow passage, with a dull low roar
sounding in a muffled way on his left.
The air came fresher and fresher as he pressed on in the intense
darkness, till, recalling by an effort of memory every step he and Fred
had formerly taken, he felt his way into the little chamber, having
drawn his sword and used it for a staff, and to guide his way.
How well he recalled the shape of that little hiding-place, with its
dust and cobwebs, and the colourless strands of ivy hanging down! And
as he paused here, asking himself whether he should stay for the
present, a silent answer was given to his question, for the hand which
rested upon the wall felt that the stones were, growing sensibly warm,
sufficiently so to suggest that the fire was raging on the other side.
Taking a long breath of the cool fresh air, he had no difficulty in
telling which way to turn for the further door, whose half-open edge the
extended sword touched directly. Then, grasping it with his hand, it
grated heavily as he drew it towards him, passed through the low
opening, and knew that he was at the top of the long narrow descending
stairs.
What a terrible depth it seemed as he went down very slowly step by
step, but heartened each minute by the feeling that every step took them
more out of the reach of the fire, while the steady current of air drawn
in from the wilderness and the lake side by the fire within the
building, rendered it certain that no flame or suffocating fume could
reach them there.
The bottom at last! and Scarlett paused to rest. He was bathed in
perspiration, and a curious dull feeling of exhaustion was setting in,
but he did not speak; he had set for himself the goal which he must
reach, and at which they would rest for the present. After he had bound
up his father's wounds, he might recover somewhat, so as to walk a
little with assistance; and then the opening at the end of the passage
was there, and freedom for them both, if the enemy had gone.
But he had not reached that vault-like refuge yet, and the way seemed to
be interminable. The excitement and effort had produced a dull, half
stupefying effect upon his senses, and this was growing rapidly now, so
much so, that with legs bending beneath him, he dropped his sword, which
fell with an echoing clamour upon the stones, and supported himself by
the wall.
And now in that pitchy darkness he crept slowly along, with a singular
nightmare-like sensation growing upon him; he ceased to have any command
of the power of thought, and went on and on, inch by inch, ever ready to
sink beneath his burden, but always at the last moment making a
desperate effort, and regaining enough strength to go on.
How long it took, how he ever got through his terrible task, he never
knew. All that he could ever recall was a feeling of journeying on and
on beneath an ever-increasing load, till suddenly the support on either
side ceased; he made a desperate effort to save himself, but went down
upon his hands and knees, felt that the burden he bore had suddenly
rolled from his back, and that his face was resting on the cool damp
stones.
Then all was darkness, mental as well as visual, and he sank into a
stupor, which lasted he could not tell how long.
The awaking was strange.
Scarlett opened his eyes involuntarily, and looked above him and to
right and left. He closed his eyes, and the effect was the same. Then
he lay for a time thinking that he must be asleep, and that this was
some portion of a dream.
But the sensation of faintness, his aching head, and the sore stiffness
of every muscle--so painful that he could hardly move--soon warned him
that he was awake, and he set himself to battle with his confused brain,
to try and make out where he was, and what it all meant. For, as far as
the past was concerned, it was as if a dense black curtain were drawn
across his mind, and this great veil he could not thrust aside.
He was cold--he was stiff and sore--he was hungry and feverishly
thirsty,--he could realise all these things, but that was all, and he
lay thinking and asking himself again and again, "What does it all
mean?"
The first hint which his brain seemed to seize upon was given by a low
deep sigh which came from close at hand.
Scarlett started up, staring wildly in the direction from which the
sound came, while his hands and brow grew moist with terror--a terror
which passed away, as a flash of mental light illumined his obscured
brain, and he cried aloud--
"Father!"
There was no reply, and Scarlett's horror and dread grew more intense,
not from weak foolish imagination, but from the feeling that his father
was lying wounded there, perhaps at the point of death, while he, who
ought to have been aiding him in every way, must have been selfishly
asleep.
The self-shame was not deserved, for nature had been too strong for
Scarlett Markham, and it was more the stupor of utter exhaustion to
which he had succumbed than sleep.
He crept to where Sir Godfrey lay, and felt for his face, which was cold
and clammy, sending a shudder through the fingers which touched the icy
brow, and then sought for the region of the heart.
Incongruous ideas of a trivial nature occur to people even in the most
terrible times, and it was so here, for as Scarlett's hand sought for
his father's breast, he found himself thinking of how good a thing it
was that he removed the armour when he took him upon his back.
The heart was beating faintly, but the pulsations could be plainly felt,
and this gave Scarlett some little hope, such as was badly needed at
this crucial time. But what was he to do? How could he help him? For
aught he could tell, they must have been there many hours, and once more
a terrible chill ran through the youth, as the thought struck him that
his father might be bleeding to death.
And what could he do? He was in utter darkness, and could not tell
where the wounds might be.
There was comfort once more in the fresh thought which came, suggested
by his experience in the skirmishes in which he had been engaged, and by
his duties in tending the wounded.
For he recalled how, in the majority of cases, unless some important
vessel was divided, Nature interposed as the great surgeon for the
preservation of her children's lives, causing the veins to chill and
contract, and the bleeding to cease; and as Scarlett Markham knelt
beside his father, and pressed his lips to the icy brow, he prayed that
it might be so now, and that his life might be spared.
"Now, what is to be done?" he said to himself, half rising, as if the
act he had done had given him refreshment and a new access of thought.
He stood for a few moments thinking, and then, feeling his way about the
place, he satisfied himself where the openings out of the little vault
lay, his doubt as to which led to the lake being solved by the steps
down to where it was formerly water, but which on testing he now found
to be firm floor, and by the little heap of rusty arms over which he
nearly fell as he crept about.
His first need was light and help for his father, and to obtain these he
felt that perhaps it would be best to surrender.
With this aim in view, he made his way back along the passage, kicking
against and recovering his sword, and up the flight of narrow stone
steps, becoming conscious that the air was growing warmer as he
proceeded, and finally that the walls were hot, while straight before
him, as he reached the top and tried to penetrate into the chamber,
there was a confused pile of heavy stones leaning towards him, as if
some party wall or portion of the roof had fallen in that direction, and
blocked the way.
He could not stay to investigate, the heat was too great; but the
freedom with which he breathed taught him that the ruins had not
completely stopped all the chamber, for a steady current of air was
flowing past him from below.
He felt instinctively that the fire must have done its work, and that
the greater part of the secret passage had been obliterated by the
falling ruins, so that he must not look for help from that direction.
Retracing his steps, then, he once more reached the vault, whose
coolness was pleasant after the stifling heat above. Then, crossing the
dark place, he slowly descended the steps, and went onward with extended
hands, feeling his way toward the two entries--the original, and that
which had been broken through by the fallen tree.
He had not far to go before a faint light stole down to guide his way,
and he reached the spot where the passage was roofed in with dead
branches and twigs, and as he reached it, just faintly heard, came the
shrill cry of a blackbird--_Pink-pink-pink_!--from somewhere in the wood
above.
A trifle that he would not have heeded at another time, but which now
sent a thrill of hope through him, for it told of light and liberty, and
help for the sufferer lying in that gloomy vault.
But he wasted no time, passing over the crackling refuse of broken wood
and stones which here impeded his way, till almost directly after he had
cleared all this, and made a turn, catching sight of the bright
star-like light low down by the floor of the passage--the opening that
he had made, and by which the water which had been gathering probably
for generations had been drained away.
He was soon at the rough wall which stopped the arch, and, going down on
one knee, he listened, for peril had made him cautious, besides which
the lessons of life he was receiving in his regimental work taught the
necessity for being prepared for enemies at every turn.
All seemed to be perfectly still, and as far as he could judge it was
early morning, soon after daybreak. The first rays of the sun appeared
to be brightening the surface of the lake as he tried to peer through
the orifice, and every now and then the cry of the water-fowl and the
splash of water endorsed his belief in there being no danger near.
Feeling satisfied that there was no danger, he returned to the broken
opening and stopped short as he heard a sharp rustling, followed by a
sound that was evidently the sharp utterance of some one impatient at
his position, or because one expected did not come.
Did whoever it was know of the existence of the hole through which the
faint light streamed down, showing the configuration of the rough
branches which covered the broken place? It seemed only probable, and,
feeling the necessity for the greater caution, Scarlett stepped slowly
and carefully among the broken fragments till he had passed the risky
spot, and then hurried on as rapidly as he could till he reached the
steps, and, mounting them cautiously, he stood once more in the chamber.
Feeling rapidly about, he uttered a cry of joy, for his hand touched his
father's brow; and as it did so, he felt it raised by the burning
fingers of the sufferer, who began talking quickly.
"Quick! Which way did they go--Lady Markham--my child Lilian? Why do
you not speak? Tell me; they are not in the burning house?"
"Father! don't you know my voice?" whispered Scarlett.
"Know your voice--know you? Yes, yes, my boy. Scar, lad, help me.
They must be somewhere here. I am looking for them. Yes, somewhere in
the house."
"No, no, father; they are in safety down at the Manor."
"Here, I tell you, sir. Help me to find them. Quick! They are in the
burning house and Scar, my boy, is that you?"
Then, seeming to drop off to sleep as his son knelt by him, there was a
sigh or two, and then he was breathing regularly, although the
inspirations sounded faint and low.
Scarlett could contain himself no longer, but, rising from his knees, he
hurried down the few steps and along the lower passage, pausing for a
moment before stealing carefully beneath the broken portion of the
arched tunnel. For there could be no doubt about the matter: there was
a rustling sound somewhere above that did not seem such as would be made
by any wild animals likely to haunt the forest, and a certainty was
given to his ideas by a low-muttering arising, followed by a hasty
ejaculation as of impatience or pain.
So near did this sound, that Scarlett remained motionless in the
obscurity of the tunnel arch, afraid to stir for quite an hour, during
which he listened, feeling assured that this opening had been discovered
by the enemy, and that they had placed a sentry there to trap any one
who attempted to escape.
"Oh!" ejaculated Scarlett at last, softly, as what he believed to be
enlightenment flashed across his brain. "Why did I not think of that
before? Fred Forrester, of course! He remembered our discovery, and he
has explained all to his father, with the result that there are
sentinels all about, waiting to take every poor wounded wretch who seeks
to escape."
It was a painful thought, for it troubled him to think that Fred had
been so unprincipled as to betray their old boyish secret.
"He might have been content to fight with his party against ours, and
not make use of his knowledge to do his old friends an evil turn."
The feeling of bitter anger mingled with scorn increased as he stood
there in weary inactivity, longing to rejoin Sir Godfrey, but dreading
to stir, for fear he should bring danger upon his father's head.
And all this time he might be awake, and in grievous suffering; perhaps
dying, and feebly stretching out his hands for help, even believing that
his son had left him there to die.
Scarlett could bear the agony of his thoughts no longer; at any cost he
must pass beneath that opening, and rejoin his father, and to this end
he stepped forward softly, to find that he had planted his foot upon a
rotten stick fallen from above, and lightly as he trod, the dry, decayed
piece of wood parted with a loud noise.
Scarlett turned cold, and the chilly moisture gathered upon his brow and
within the palms of his hands.
"It is all over!" he muttered, as his hand went involuntarily to the
hilt of his sword; and then he dragged it from its sheath, and raised
the point, thinking of how strong his position was, and how few men
would dare to descend with that sharp point awaiting the first enemy who
came.
Then, half stifled by holding his breath, he began to breathe freely
once more, for there came a low sigh from above, then a faint rustling,
and then the regular, low breathing of some man asleep.
Scarlett stayed no longer, but stepped quickly across the wood-strewn
patch of the floor, and then hastened along the passage, and up the few
steps in the total darkness; and after a very little groping about,
found himself beside his father, who was sleeping peacefully, while his
head was cool, telling how the fever of his wounds had gone down.