Crown and Sceptre Part 84

Then, as if unable to control himself, he glanced sharply at the burning building, while, giddy and weak with emotion, Fred walked slowly back, to make his way to his father, who met him and took his arm.

"Have you heard any news of them?" said the colonel, hoa.r.s.ely.

"No, father," half whispered Fred; and he repeated the Cavalier's words.

Colonel Forrester glanced at the burning Hall, nearly every portion of which had now been seized upon by the flames, and he drew a deep hissing breath, as he whispered to himself--

"No, no; impossible! They must have escaped. Fred," he said aloud, "they will not tell us if we ask--it is quite natural; so we are quite in the dark as to how many the defenders were. There were none killed, and I find that the wounded were all carried out. Sir G.o.dfrey and his son must have escaped, or if not, they will be brought in by some of the outposts."

Fred made no answer; he could not speak, for a terrible picture was before his eyes--that of Sir G.o.dfrey, wounded to the death, unable to stir, and Scarlett trying to bear him out to safety, but only to be overtaken and beaten down by the flames.

He walked on by his father in silence, while the latter gazed straight before him, thinking to himself of the past, when he and Sir G.o.dfrey were the fastest of friends.

"This cruel war!" he said to himself. "Friend against friend, brother against brother. Poor G.o.dfrey! Poor Scarlett! So full of brave manliness and courage. Fitting end for two brave spirits; but I feel as if I had a.s.sisted at their death."

But at that moment Fred made a mental effort.

"I will not believe it," he said, with a shudder. "It is too horrible."

Then aloud, "Father, may I take something to the prisoners, and help them? They look very bad."

"Yes, yes; of course," said the colonel, starting as it were back to the present. "Poor fellows! The surgeon must be with them now; but go and do your best."

But hard as Fred worked by the light of the burning house, he could do little to a.s.suage the pains, mental and bodily, of the prisoners. They a.s.sumed a careless indifference, a good-humoured contempt for their captors. They were Cavaliers--gentlemen who did not scruple to serve as ordinary soldiers for the benefit of their country; and they smiled at the rough stern men of the Puritan ranks. But deep in their hearts there was a despairing rage at being conquered, which bit and stung, and made them writhe more than the throbbings of their wounds.

The refreshments Fred took to them, helped by Samson, were simple, but most welcome; and more than one eye brightened and directed a friendly grateful look at the lad who busied himself on the captives' behalf.

"No; no more, my boy," said the tall, fair Cavalier, smiling at Fred, as he pressed him to eat. "I have a wound here that throbs as if some one were thrusting a red-hot iron through my shoulder. I suppose it is all right, but your surgeon has not hands like some delicate lady."

"Can I do anything?" said Fred, eagerly. "Shall I bathe the wound?"

"No, my desperate and deadly enemy, no," said the Cavalier, smiling as he look Fred's hand; "and look here: some of these days the war will be over, and if you and I are not sleeping too soundly, you must come and see me, and I'll come and see you. At present our duty is to kill each other, or take one another prisoner. By-and-by we shall have more time.

There," he said, drawing a ring from his finger; "you wear that, and remember that Harry Grey always feels respect and esteem for a brave enemy, while for you--Oh, curse it! We are not enemies. G.o.d bless you, my lad! You and Scar Markham ought to be working together as a pair."

He turned impatiently away, laid his head upon the folded cloak, of which Fred had made a pillow and closed his eyes, as if annoyed that he should have seemed weak; while, after pressing the ring tightly down in its place, Fred stood back watching the group of wounded and captive men for a few minutes, before turning away, and then stopping short by the little heap of swords of which they had been deprived.

As it happened, one with a peculiarly shaped guard took his attention, for he remembered having seen it hanging to the belt of the Cavalier he had been tending.

Stooping down, he was in the act of drawing it from among the others, when the sentinel made a movement to arrest his hand.

"Don't interfere," said Fred, sharply. "I will be answerable to Colonel Forrester for what I have done."

The man drew back, and stood resting upon his clumsy firelock again, while, as the lad stood with the sword in his hand, he raised his eyes from the hilt, and found that the Cavalier was watching him, and making a sign to him to approach once more.

Fred stepped to his side.

"No," he said; "you cannot have it. You are a prisoner."

"Of course," said the wounded man, smiling; "though if I had it, I could not use it. I was going to say I am glad you have taken it. A capital blade, my boy. Here, unbuckle the belt, and take it and the sheath.

Yes, I insist. That's right. Keep it, lad, and don't, if we meet again, use it on me. No, no thanks; it is yours by right of capture.

Now I want a nap."

CHAPTER FORTY.

A SAD REPORT.

The Cavalier let his head sink once more upon his pillow, and Fred went slowly away, to go and watch the flames rising and falling as the Hall burned rapidly, sending forth a glow of heat that could be felt far away.

And now that the hurry and excitement were at an end, Fred had time once more to think of those of whose fate he was still uncertain.

Just then a prisoner was being brought in, and he hurried to the spot, but only to turn away disappointed, to go and gaze once more at the burning pile, musing sadly on the times when he had pa.s.sed such pleasant hours about the place which had been to him as a second home; and thinking, as he gazed through the open windows into the furnace within, of the various rooms where every object was so familiar--picture, ornament, carved cabinet, trophy--and now all turning to glowing embers.

"Seems a pity, Master Fred, don't it?" said a voice at his elbow.

"You here, Samson?"

"Yes, sir; just come from round at the back."

"Has the fire made its way there?"

"Oh, bless you, sir, it's been creeping and rus.h.i.+ng and leaping over everything! Even the big tool-house and fruit-room's burned. Such a pity. Nice lot of tools all destroyed; and, not that I want to find fault, but a deal better set than we ever had at the Manor. Why, there was a barrow, sir, as run that light in your hands, no matter how you filled it, as made it a pleasure to work."

"And all burned, Samson?"

"All burned into ashes, sir. I never could understand it, but it always did seem hard as a man like brother Nat should have such a barrow as that, while I had one as I was ashamed of."

"We must get to the wilderness to-night, Samson, somehow."

"Oh, he won't hurt, sir," said Samson, roughly. "He's right enough; but I've got a bottle o' cider, and three bread-cakes, and half a roast fowl to take with us when we go."

"That's right," said Fred, smiling in spite of himself; but only to turn serious as an agonising thought shot through him, for a portion of the roof of the Hall fell just then, and a whirlwind of sparks sprang into the evening sky.

"Have you heard any news, Samson?" whispered Fred.

"News, sir?"

"Of Sir G.o.dfrey and Scarlett?"

Samson stood gazing straight at the fire, his eyes half shut, and his forehead a maze of puckers and wrinkles, and he seemed not to have heard in the intentness of his watching the progress of the fire.

"Do you hear what I say?" reiterated Fred. "Is there any news of Sir G.o.dfrey and Scarlett?"

"Yes, I hear what you say, sir."

"Then why don't you speak?"

"'Cause I haven't nothing good to say."

"Oh, Samson, there is no bad news?"