Crown and Sceptre Part 75

"When he knows me as well as he does his own son!"

"Ride back, and tell your leaders that I have laid the contents of their letter before the gallant gentlemen who are my companions here."

There was a buzz, and an attempt at cheering, which ceased as Sir G.o.dfrey went on.

"They all join heart and soul with me in the determination to hold my home here in the name of his majesty the king, so long as there is a roof above us and a piece of wall to act as shelter, to help us keep your rascally rebellious cut-throats out of the place."

Fred felt all of a tingle, and his eyes flamed as he gazed up defiantly at the speaker.

"Tell your leaders that if they will at once lay down their arms and return to their homes, they shall be allowed to do so in peace."

"Huzza!" came from within.

"But if they still keep in arms against his majesty, they must expect no mercy. Once more. Tell your leaders that we treat their proposal with the contempt it deserves."

"As we shall treat your silly proposition, sir," said Fred, quite losing his temper at being made the bearer of such an absurd defiance from a little knot of men, completely surrounded as they were. "Am I to fully understand that you are obstinate enough to say you will hold out?"

"Look here, insolent boy," said Sir G.o.dfrey, sternly, "you are safe-- your character of messenger makes you so--but if you stay where you are in front of this my doorstep another five minutes, one of the men shall beat you away with a staff. Go!"

Fred turned white, then red, and he felt the bitterness of the general's words the more keenly from having forgotten himself and departed from his neutral position of messenger to speak as he had. He wanted to say something angry that should show Sir G.o.dfrey and his companions, and above all, Scarlett, that he was obliged to go, but that it was on account of his duty, and not that he feared the man with the staff. But suitable words would not come, and, bubbling over with impotent wrath and annoyance, he touched his horse's flanks with the spurs, turned as slowly and deliberately as he could, and began to move away, but only to face round fiercely as the tall Cavalier at the window said banteringly--

"Good-bye, young game-c.o.c.k."

There was a roar of laughter from the careless party looking on.

"You coward!"

"Not I, my lad," came back in cheery tones. "I was only joking.

Good-bye, and good luck go with you, though you are a Roundhead. Think better of it; let your hair grow, and then come and ask for Harry Grey.

I shall have a regiment again some day, and I shall be proud to have you at my side."

The words were so frankly and honestly said that Fred's eyes brightened, and pa.s.sing the pike-shaft into his bridle hand, he raised his steel cap to the Cavalier, replaced it, and rode off, while the Royalist officer turned to Scarlett.

"As frank and st.u.r.dy a boy as I have ever met, excepting you, Scarlett Markham, of course," he added, as merrily as if there were no danger near.

"Yes, he's as true as steel," said Scarlett, flus.h.i.+ng. "He always was."

"You know him?"

"It's Fred Forrester, Colonel Forrester's son, from the Manor. We were companions till the war broke out."

"Three cheers for bonnie Coombeland and its boys," said the Cavalier.

"Why, Scarlett, my lad, we shall have to get him away from these wretched rebels. Can't it be done?"

"No," said Scarlett, gravely. "Fred is too staunch and true."

And staunchly enough, Fred, with his trumpeter behind, was riding back to camp with his message, which he delivered to General Hedley and his father.

There was a pause after he had done, and the general sat gazing straight before him.

"Well, Forrester," he said at last, "I have done my duty so far, and I must go on. We cannot leave this little nest of hornets in our rear to act as a point to which other insects will gather for the destruction of those who are fighting for their homes. It is of no use to give them time."

"No," said Colonel Forrester, sternly. "I agree with you. They must fall, or be taken to a man."

"And their blood be upon their own heads."

"Amen," said Colonel Forrester, in a deep voice; and as Fred glanced at him he saw that he was very pale, while a cold chill of dread ran through the lad's veins as, in imagination, he seemed to see stout, handsome Sir G.o.dfrey Markham borne down by numbers, with Scarlett making frantic efforts to save him; and then all seemed to be dark--a darkness which hung over his spirit, so that he led his horse mechanically to the improvised stabling beneath the trees, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, till a voice said--

"No, no, Master Fred, I'll see to your horse;" and he turned and found Samson there, and this set him thinking about poor Nat lying helpless in the wood.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

SAMSON VISITS HIS BROTHER.

No orders were given for attack that night, and Fred went to the rough shelter that served him for tent, to lie down, but not to sleep, for his thoughts were either at the Manor, which was to him as if it were a hundred miles away; at the Hall, where he knew that the little Royalist party were doing everything to resist the impending attack; or in the gloomy old patch of ancient forest they called the wilderness, where poor Nat lay helpless, and very little removed from death.

"I can't sleep," said Fred, at last, as he rose from his bed, which consisted of a pile of heather, over which his horseman's cloak was thrown, and impetuously hurrying out, he stood gazing up at the bright stars, with the cool moist wind from the north-west bearing to his hot cheeks the freshness of the sea.

"Perhaps dying," he said to himself at last. "I can't lie there thinking about it. I will go, at all costs, and he shall go with me."

He stepped back into his rough tent, buckled on his sword, threw the strap of a wallet over his head, and then took the remainder of his evening meal and a small flask, which he placed in the wallet. This done, he paused for a few moments, and then sought a scarf and a couple of handkerchiefs, which he also thrust into the wallet.

The next minute he was groping his way toward the place in a thick grove where the horses were picketed; and he had not far to look, on reaching his own, before finding Samson curled up in a half-sitting, half-lying position between the mossy b.u.t.tresses formed by the roots of a huge beech.

Stooping down, he seized his henchman's shoulder, and shook him, but only elicited a grunt.

He shook him again, but though his act was more vigorous, it only elicited a fresh series of grunts.

"You idle pig!" cried Fred, angrily, as he administered a kick; "get up!"

_Snore_!

A long-drawn, deep-toned snore.

"Samson! I want you." No response. Samson's senses were so deeply steeped in sleep that nothing seemed to rouse him.

"I wish I had a pin," muttered Fred, as he kicked and shook again, without effect. "And there isn't a thorn anywhere near. Spurs!" he exclaimed. "No," he added in a disappointed tone--"too blunt. There's no water to rouse him nearer than the lake; and if there was, it would be too bad to let him go about drenched. What shall I do? Samson, get up; I want you. I'll p.r.i.c.k you with my sword, if you don't wake up."

"Tell him the enemy's here, sir," said a sleepy man lying close by.

"Wouldn't wake him, if he did," grumbled another.

The men's remarks suggested an idea which made Fred smile, as he went down on one knee, placed his lips close to Samson's ear, and whispered--

"Well, I wouldn't let him meddle with my garden. Your brother Nat."

That one word, "Nat," seemed to run echoing through all the convolutions of Samson Dee's brain, and he started up at once, full of eagerness and thoroughly awakened, as if by a magic touch.