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Now, to your place." As Scarlett regained his troop, the young officer over him was talking loudly to his men. "They're not satisfied with the beating they have already had," he was saying. "Let's show them now what we can do when we are in earnest. It was a mistake to show the rascals mercy this morning.
"I know you're telling me something, but I bled all the sense out of me, and I can't understand what you mean. Never mind me. I dare say it's all right." "But, Nat," cried Scarlett, eagerly, as a thought struck him, and he realised that it was useless to try and impress upon the poor fellow about the secret passage, "you are lying out here." "Yes, sir; not a nice place, but cool and fresh."
"And we are enemies," thought Fred, with his eyes now closed, and a calm restful feeling coming over him like the beginning of sleep, from which he started, for there was the loud trampling of horses, the jingling of accoutrements, and the brazen bray of a trumpet. Scarlett started up, shook the water from his hands, snatched up his broad-leafed hat, and took his gloves from his belt.
He rose slowly to his feet, and stood motionless. "He hates her," said Lord Newhaven to himself. And he removed his glance and came forward. "You were looking for me, Violet?" he remarked. "I have no doubt you are wishing to return home. We will go at once." He threw away his cigarette. "Well, good-bye, Scarlett, in case we don't meet again. I dare say you will pay Westhope a visit later on.
"No," he exclaimed directly after, "I don't think it's that. I know at least, I should know if I touched it." "What do you mean?" "It's some sheep slipped down when feeding, and never been missed." "Do you think it's that?" said Scarlett, eagerly. "I feel sure of it. If it had been a man, he would have found some way of getting out. I say, Scar, will you stoop down and touch it?"
For there, kneeling in the straw, was Scarlett Markham, his buff gauntlet gloves thrust in his sword-belt, his cavalier hat cast aside, and his brow knit and glistening with perspiration, as he kept on dipping a white kerchief in a bowl of cold water held by some one at the back, and carefully bathed Fred's forehead.
"He will not go and hunt for it by himself," said Scarlett, thoughtfully, as he turned to go in, little thinking what a shadow was falling over his home. "No," he added laconically, "too dark;" and, after a glance toward the woodlands at the east end of the gate, he entered the house whistling merrily.
Do you think we could clean the armour, and make it look bright again?" Scarlett shook his head as he picked up the remains of an old helmet. "It must have been a time of war when this house was built," he said thoughtfully; "and the secret passage was forgotten when it became a time of peace." "But it is not a time of peace now, is it? I heard that there would very likely be war."
"Silence, sir!" cried Fred, angrily; and, after giving the men orders, the little party returned with their prisoners in their midst, Scarlett behind, gazing haughtily before him, and paying no heed to a few words addressed to him at first by his captor, who reined back at the slight, and followed afterwards at the rear of his little troop, angry and indignant at Scarlett's contemptuous manner, and at the same time sorry and glad, the latter feeling perhaps predominating, for he had successfully carried out his father's commands.
Scarlett was fond of them, of course, and because she was a sentimental woman she was sometimes quite needlessly emotional about them, but John no. John was of another world. The other children felt, beyond question, this difference.
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