Part 28 (2/2)

But that was not the coinage of his brain that distant _pit-pat_ of a horse's hoofs upon the hard road; and springing out of bed, he ran to the window, threw it open, and looked out, straining his neck to get a glimpse of the distant way.

For a few moments he could see nothing. Then there came into sight, rising out of a hollow, the head and broad shoulders of a horseman. As he progressed, more and more of his figure appealed as he ascended a slope, till at last the horse was in full view, but directly afterwards they seemed to top the ascent and begin to go down on the other side, with the sun flas.h.i.+ng from stirrup and buckle, and from the hilt of the rider's sword. There were other bright flashes too all around, but they were from the dewdrops which spangled gra.s.s and leaf, as the rider seemed to grow shorter, his horse disappearing, till only his head and shoulders appeared above the ridge, and then they pa.s.sed away, and the _pit-pat_ of the horse's hoofs died out.

”Gone!” said Fred, thoughtfully. ”No! there he is again;” and he strained his eyes to gaze at the tiny distant form of the military-looking man who had made so strong an impression upon him, but he did not become visible; it was only the sound of his horse's hoofs which were heard for the s.p.a.ce of a minute, faint but clear, on the morning air. Then all was silent.

”I half like that Captain Miles,” said Fred to himself. ”Wish I was going with him. Wonder where he has gone? To Plymouth, perhaps.”

Fred began to dress, after hesitating whether he should go to bed again.

But the bright morning was so attractive, and after the first application of cold water, he felt a positive eagerness to get out in the fresh air.

All the time he was dressing his head was full of his confused dream and the fight in the narrow pa.s.sage, while the events of the preceding day had so impressed him that he hurried downstairs, glanced at the hall clock, which pointed to a quarter to five, and, taking his hat, ran out, and down the garden.

”Morning, Master Fred,” came from behind the hedge; and it was so sudden that the lad jumped.

”You, Samson?” he cried. ”Yes; I've been starting that gen'leman who come yesterday. Had to get up at four and have his horse ready. Going fis.h.i.+ng?”

”No; only for a walk.”

”Over to the Hall?”

”Yes, Samson,” replied the lad, impatiently. ”Then, if you see that bad brother o' mine, Master Fred, don't you speak to him. I'm getting ashamed of him.”

”No: he's getting ashamed of you, Sam,” cried Fred, tauntingly. ”What?”

”Well, he said so last night.”

”Ashamed of me, sir. I should like to see him be 'shamed of me. I'd give him something to be 'shamed about.”

”Oh yes, of course,” cried Fred; and he ran on, forgetting all about the gardener in his eagerness to get to the lake.

The birds were twittering and singing in the woods and coppices, the soft, silvery mists were rising from the hollow, and each broad fern frond glistened as if set with tiny jewels of every prismatic hue. Away too in the distance, as he topped a hill, one corner of the Hall lake could be seen glistening like burnished silver set in a frame of vivid green.

But these were too common objects to take the boy's attention as he walked up the hill slope and trotted down the other side, for he was intent upon one thing only, a faint indication of which was given by his exclaiming once--

”How surprised old Scar will be!”

It was not to go under his window and rouse Scar by throwing pebbles up at the lattice-pane, for instead of taking the dewy path round, by the high trees, which would have taken him at once to the house, Fred ran down the sharp slope into the little coombe, through which ran off the surplus waters of the lake. Here there was a clump of alders growing amongst the sandstone rocks, and three of the larger trees had been cut down to act as posts, to one of which the old flat-bottomed boat was fastened by a chain.

The boy had about fifty yards to go through this clump of alders, a little winding path trampled by the cattle forming his way; and along this he turned, so as to get to the opening where the trees had been cut down, and the boat lay.

But before he was three-parts of the way through, he heard a peculiar sc.r.a.ping sound, followed by a splash, and then a repet.i.tion, and another repet.i.tion, in regular rhythm and measure.

Fred stopped short, listening. ”How tiresome!” he muttered. ”Scar must have told old Nat to bale her out before he went to bed. Wonder how long he'll be?” Evidently intending to wait until the man whom he heard was gone, Fred crept softly along, listening to the rhythmic splash of water, till he could peer through the thin growth at the person bailing out the boat.

No sooner did he catch sight of him than he dashed forward to where Scarlett sat on the edge of the old punt wielding a shallow iron pot.

”Fred!”

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