Dick o' the Fens Part 72

"No," said d.i.c.k shortly, for the plan to run away seemed now to belong to some project of the past.

"I couldn't come before," whispered Tom. "I was all ready, but father did not go to bed for ever so long; and when at last I thought it was all right, and was ready to start, I heard him go down and open the back-door."

"And go out?" whispered d.i.c.k.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I didn't know, but my father has done just the same."

"Oh!"

"Did yours come back?"

"No," said Tom; "and I daren't start for ever so long. But I've come now, so let's start off quick."

"Which way did your father go?"

"I don't know, but we're wasting time."

"Did he take the boat?"

"How should I know? I didn't see him go. I only heard. Come, are you ready?"

"No," said d.i.c.k hoa.r.s.ely, and not prepared to tell his companion that he had repented. "How can we go now with them both somewhere about? They would be sure to catch us and bring us back."

It was a subterfuge, and d.i.c.k's face turned scarlet, as he knew by the burning sensation. The next instant he had felt so ashamed of his paltry excuse that he blurted out:

"I sha'n't go. I'm sorry I said I would. It's cowardly, but I don't mean to go--there!"

The hot tears of vexation and misery stood in his eyes as he made this confession, and rose up prepared to resent his companion's reproaches with angry words; but he was disarmed, for Tom whispered hastily:

"Oh, d.i.c.k, I am so glad! I wouldn't show the white feather and play sneak, but I didn't want to go. It seemed too bad to mother and father.

But you mean it?"

"Yes, I mean it!" said d.i.c.k, with a load off his breast. "I felt that it would be like running away because we were afraid to face a charge."

"Hooray!" cried Tom in a whisper. "I say, d.i.c.k, don't think me a coward, but I am so glad! I say, shall I go back now?"

"No; stop a bit," whispered d.i.c.k, with his heart beating, and a strange suspicion making its way into his breast. For in an incoherent vague manner he found himself thinking of Farmer Tallington stealing out of his house in the middle of the night. He had a boat, as most of the fen farmers had, for gunning, fis.h.i.+ng, and cutting reeds. What was he doing on the water at night? For it must have been he with a light.

Then a terrible suspicion flashed across him, and the vague ideas began to shape themselves and grow solid. Suppose it was Farmer Tallington who had been guilty of--

d.i.c.k made a strong effort at this point to master his wandering imagination, and forced himself to think only of what he really knew to be the fact, namely, that Farmer Tallington was out somewhere, and that the squire was out too.

"My father must have come to meet yours, d.i.c.k," whispered Tom at that point. "I know they suspect there's something wrong, and they have gone down to watch the drain, or to meet Mr Marston."

"Yes," said d.i.c.k, in a tone which did not carry conviction with it.

"That must be it."

"What shall we do? Go back to bed?"

"Ye-es, we had better," said d.i.c.k thoughtfully. "I say, Tom, we have done quite right. We couldn't have gone away."

"Hist! did you hear that?"

For answer d.i.c.k strained out of the window. He had heard that--a sudden splas.h.i.+ng in the water, a shout--and the next moment there was a flash which cut the darkness apparently a couple of hundred yards away, and then came a dull report, and silence.

The boys remained listening for some moments, but they could not hear a sound. The signs of the coming morning were growing plainer; there was a faint twittering in some bushes at a distance, followed by the sharp metallic _c.h.i.n.k c.h.i.n.k_ of a blackbird; and then all at once, loud and clear from the farm-yard, rang out the morning challenge of a c.o.c.k.

Then once more all was still. There was no footstep, no splash of pole in the water.

For a few minutes neither spoke, but listened intently with every nerve upon the strain; and then with a catching of the breath as he realised what had gone before, and that he had seen his father steal carefully down in the direction of the mere, d.i.c.k sprang from the window and gripped his companion by the arm.

"Tom," he gasped, "quick! come on! Some one else has been--"

He would have said _shot_, but his voice failed, and with a cold chill of horror stealing over him he remained for a few moments as if paralysed.

Then, with Tom Tallington close behind, he ran swiftly down towards the mere.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE NEW HORROR.

They did not know exactly where to go, for the guidance afforded by a sound is very deceptive, but there had been the splash of water, so that the shot must have been from somewhere at the foot of the Toft, down where the meadow land gave place to rough marsh, bog, and reedy water.

d.i.c.k listened as he ran; but there was no splash now--no sound of footstep.

As the lads advanced the dawning light increased, and a startled bird flew out from the bushes, another from a tuft of dry gra.s.s; and once more there was the _c.h.i.n.k_--_c.h.i.n.k_ of a blackbird. The day was awakening, and d.i.c.k Winthorpe asked himself what the dawn was to show.

It was still dark enough to necessitate care, and over the mere as they neared it a low mist hung, completely screening its waters as they vainly attempted to pierce the gloom.

Plash, plash through the boggy parts of the mere fringe, for d.i.c.k had not paused to follow any track, stumbling among tufts of gra.s.s and marsh growth, they hurried on with eager eyes, longing to shout, but afraid, for there was a growing horror upon both the lads of having to be shortly in presence of some terrible scene.

They neither of them spoke, but mutually clung together for support, though all the time there was a strange repugnance in d.i.c.k's breast as he now began to realise the strength of the suspicion he entertained.

But if they dared not shout, there was some one near at hand ready to utter a l.u.s.ty cry, which startled them as it rang out of the gloom from away down by the labourers' cottages and the wheelwright's.

"Ahoy! Hillo!" rang out.

"Hillo, Hicky!" yelled Tom. "Here!"

"Where away, lads?" came back; and then there was the dull low beat of feet, and they heard the wheelwright shout to his apprentice to follow him.

The two little parties joined directly, to stand in the mist all panting and excited, the wheelwright half-dressed, and his bare head rough from contact with the pillow.

"Hey, lads," he cried, "was that you two shouting?"