Part 93 (1/2)

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

IN UTTER DARKNESS.

It was not easy to think and lay plans in such a position as that in which Scarlett Markham found himself. His temples throbbed painfully, his head swam, and at every exertion it seemed to him as if hot molten lead were rolling from side to side of his head. But the cool damp air came by him in a continuous draught, and feeling now that before long the narrow pa.s.sages and the little chamber beyond must certainly grow heated in the conflagration, perhaps be swept away in the general destruction, he set himself the task of getting Sir G.o.dfrey upon his back, and, after several failures, found that his first step in that direction must be to unbuckle and cast aside the defensive armour his father wore.

This done, the steel falling on the stone floor of the pa.s.sage with a heavy clang, he once more tried, successfully, and, bending beneath the weight of his load, traversed the narrow pa.s.sage, with a dull low roar sounding in a m.u.f.fled way on his left.

The air came fresher and fresher as he pressed on in the intense darkness, till, recalling by an effort of memory every step he and Fred had formerly taken, he felt his way into the little chamber, having drawn his sword and used it for a staff, and to guide his way.

How well he recalled the shape of that little hiding-place, with its dust and cobwebs, and the colourless strands of ivy hanging down! And as he paused here, asking himself whether he should stay for the present, a silent answer was given to his question, for the hand which rested upon the wall felt that the stones were, growing sensibly warm, sufficiently so to suggest that the fire was raging on the other side.

Taking a long breath of the cool fresh air, he had no difficulty in telling which way to turn for the further door, whose half-open edge the extended sword touched directly. Then, grasping it with his hand, it grated heavily as he drew it towards him, pa.s.sed through the low opening, and knew that he was at the top of the long narrow descending stairs.

What a terrible depth it seemed as he went down very slowly step by step, but heartened each minute by the feeling that every step took them more out of the reach of the fire, while the steady current of air drawn in from the wilderness and the lake side by the fire within the building, rendered it certain that no flame or suffocating fume could reach them there.

The bottom at last! and Scarlett paused to rest. He was bathed in perspiration, and a curious dull feeling of exhaustion was setting in, but he did not speak; he had set for himself the goal which he must reach, and at which they would rest for the present. After he had bound up his father's wounds, he might recover somewhat, so as to walk a little with a.s.sistance; and then the opening at the end of the pa.s.sage was there, and freedom for them both, if the enemy had gone.

But he had not reached that vault-like refuge yet, and the way seemed to be interminable. The excitement and effort had produced a dull, half stupefying effect upon his senses, and this was growing rapidly now, so much so, that with legs bending beneath him, he dropped his sword, which fell with an echoing clamour upon the stones, and supported himself by the wall.

And now in that pitchy darkness he crept slowly along, with a singular nightmare-like sensation growing upon him; he ceased to have any command of the power of thought, and went on and on, inch by inch, ever ready to sink beneath his burden, but always at the last moment making a desperate effort, and regaining enough strength to go on.

How long it took, how he ever got through his terrible task, he never knew. All that he could ever recall was a feeling of journeying on and on beneath an ever-increasing load, till suddenly the support on either side ceased; he made a desperate effort to save himself, but went down upon his hands and knees, felt that the burden he bore had suddenly rolled from his back, and that his face was resting on the cool damp stones.

Then all was darkness, mental as well as visual, and he sank into a stupor, which lasted he could not tell how long.

The awaking was strange.

Scarlett opened his eyes involuntarily, and looked above him and to right and left. He closed his eyes, and the effect was the same. Then he lay for a time thinking that he must be asleep, and that this was some portion of a dream.

But the sensation of faintness, his aching head, and the sore stiffness of every muscle--so painful that he could hardly move--soon warned him that he was awake, and he set himself to battle with his confused brain, to try and make out where he was, and what it all meant. For, as far as the past was concerned, it was as if a dense black curtain were drawn across his mind, and this great veil he could not thrust aside.

He was cold--he was stiff and sore--he was hungry and feverishly thirsty,--he could realise all these things, but that was all, and he lay thinking and asking himself again and again, ”What does it all mean?”

The first hint which his brain seemed to seize upon was given by a low deep sigh which came from close at hand.

Scarlett started up, staring wildly in the direction from which the sound came, while his hands and brow grew moist with terror--a terror which pa.s.sed away, as a flash of mental light illumined his obscured brain, and he cried aloud--

”Father!”

There was no reply, and Scarlett's horror and dread grew more intense, not from weak foolish imagination, but from the feeling that his father was lying wounded there, perhaps at the point of death, while he, who ought to have been aiding him in every way, must have been selfishly asleep.

The self-shame was not deserved, for nature had been too strong for Scarlett Markham, and it was more the stupor of utter exhaustion to which he had succ.u.mbed than sleep.

He crept to where Sir G.o.dfrey lay, and felt for his face, which was cold and clammy, sending a shudder through the fingers which touched the icy brow, and then sought for the region of the heart.

Incongruous ideas of a trivial nature occur to people even in the most terrible times, and it was so here, for as Scarlett's hand sought for his father's breast, he found himself thinking of how good a thing it was that he removed the armour when he took him upon his back.

The heart was beating faintly, but the pulsations could be plainly felt, and this gave Scarlett some little hope, such as was badly needed at this crucial time. But what was he to do? How could he help him? For aught he could tell, they must have been there many hours, and once more a terrible chill ran through the youth, as the thought struck him that his father might be bleeding to death.

And what could he do? He was in utter darkness, and could not tell where the wounds might be.