Chapter Seven.Fred Takes a Jump.The adventure in the Rill cave was talked about for a few days, and several plans were made for its further exploration; but, in spite of the talking, no further visit was made in that direction.“You see, we ought to get a boat,” Fred said, “and row right to the mouth, and go in that way next time, and we haven’t got a boat.”“And no likelihood of getting one,” said Scarlett, thoughtfully. “Shall we go down again, and take your Samson with us this time?”“I don’t see that there’s any good in it; and see what a mess we should be in again. I was full of little tiny bits of slate all in my hair, and down my back, and, after all, it wasn’t worth the trouble.”“Made me feel a bit queer. I say, Scar, only fancy being shut up there, and starving to death.”Scarlett gave an involuntary shiver.“Don’t talk about it.”“I say, starving to death makes you think about eating. When are your people coming over again to supper?”“I don’t know,” said Scarlett, with an uneasy sensation.“What’s the matter, Scar?”“I don’t know. I’m not sure. I think your father and mine have fallen out again.”“What makes you think that?”“Something I heard my mother saying to him.”“Well, they’ll soon be friends again, I dare say.”“I hope so. But, Fred, how everybody seems to be talking now about the troubles in the east.”“Well, let them,” laughed Fred. “We don’t want any of their troubles in the west. What do you say to an afternoon’s nutting?”“The nuts are not half ripe.”“Well, let’s get your Nat’s ferret, and try for a rabbit.”“He would not lend it to us.”“Let’s go down on the shore, and collect shells for your Lil.”“She has more than she wants now.”“Well, let’s do something. I vote we go down and hunt out the way into that passage. We can do that without getting our heads full of slate.”Scarlett acceded readily, the more so that ever since their adventure in the passage, the place had had a peculiar fascination for both lads. They often stopped in the middle of some pursuit to talk about the curious idea of making a door to be entered by lying down, and contriving it out of a stair. Then there were the ingenious peculiarities of the old passage, and the strange gloom of the oak chamber, and the dark vault, with its heap of old arms, which they regretted not to have brought out to try and restore to something like their former condition.For, in spite of previous failure, the idea of discovering the second entrance to that passage was often suggesting itself to the lads; and, in consequence, they began to haunt the edge of the lake, feeling sure that some day or another accident would direct them to the very spot they had searched for so long.Scarlett insisted that they would find the opening right down in the water, while, on the other hand, Fred maintained the opposite.“Nobody would be such a noodle as to build his back-door right down in the water,” he said, “unless he meant the place for a bath. No; we shall find that doorway out in the wood somewhere, you mark my words, Scar. I dare say, if we were to take billhooks and cut and hack away the branches, we should find it soon enough.”Scarlett shook his head, but joined in the search, one which, in spite of their peering about, proved to be in vain, and, after being well scratched by brambles and briars, Scarlett had his own way again, and they began to hunt the shore.The broad sheet of water ran up in quite a bay toward the fine old English mansion, and round this bay were dense clumps of hazels, patches of alder, and old oak-trees grew right on the edge of the perpendicular bank, their roots deep down beneath the black leaf-mould, which here formed the bottom of the clear water.“It must be here somewhere,” said Scarlett, one sunny afternoon, as they sat on the mossy roots of one of the great oaks, and idly picked off sheets of delicate green vegetable velvet and flakes of creamy and grey lichen to throw into the water.“Yes, it must be here somewhere, of course; but I don’t see any use in getting scratched by briars for nothing. We never seem to get any nearer to it. Perhaps we were wrong, and it’s only a kind of well, after all.”“No,” said Scarlett; “they would not make a well there.”“Then we got muddled over the way we went, and, perhaps, while we are looking for the entrance this side, it’s over the other.”“No,” said Scarlett again, “I don’t think that.”“But if there had been a way in here from the lake, some one must have seen it before now. We should have noticed it when we were fishing or nesting. Or, if we had not seen it, your Nat or one of the other gardeners must have found it.”“No, they must not. I don’t see any must about it. Perhaps it’s too cleverly hidden away, or I shouldn’t wonder if, since it was made, a tree had grown all over the entrance, and shut it right up.”“And we shall never find it.”“Not unless we cut the tree down.”“And, of course, we don’t know which tree to cut.”“And if we did, my father would not have a tree touched on any account. Remember how angry he was with the wind?”“What, when it blew down the big elm?”“Yes.”There was a pause.“I say,” said Fred, yawning, “let’s give it up. What do we care about where the passage comes out! We know where it goes in.”“Foxes always have two holes,” said Scarlett, dreamily.“So do rabbits. Lots of holes sometimes. But we’re not foxes, and we’re not rabbits.”“No; but you’ll be like a water-rat directly, if you sit on that moss. It’s as slippery as can be close to the edge. Come and get some nuts.”“Not ripe enough,” said Fred, idly.“Never mind; let’s get some, whether or no.”“Where shall we go? We’ve got all there are about the edge of the lake.”“Let’s go down there by the big oaks. There’s a great clump of nuts just beyond, where we have not been yet.”“Oh yes, we have,” said Fred, laughing; “leastwise, I have—one day when I came over and you weren’t at home.”“That’s always your way, Fred. I never come over to your place and take your things.”“Halloa!” laughed Fred, rising slowly from where he had lounged upon the mossy, buttress-like roots. “Who came and helped himself to my gilliflower apples?”Scarlett laughed. “Well, they looked so tempting, and we were to have picked them that day. Come along.”They went crushing and rustling through the woody wilderness for about a hundred yards from the side of the lake. It was a part sacred to the birds and rabbits, a dense dark thicket where oaks and beeches shut out the light of day, and for generations past the woodman’s axe had never struck a blow. Here and there the forest monarchs had fallen from old age, and where they had left a vacancy hazel stubs flourished, springing up gaily, and revelling on the rotten wood and dead leaves which covered the ground, and among which grew patches of nuts and briar, with the dark dewberry and swarthy dwale.Here, as they walked, the lads’ feet crushed in the moss-covered, rotten wood, and at every step a faint damp odour of mould, mingled with the strong scent of crushed ferns and fungi, rose to their nostrils.“Never mind the nuts,” said Fred; “let’s get out in the sunshine again. Pst! there he goes.”He stopped short as he spoke, watching the scuttling away of a rabbit, whose white cottony tail was seen for a moment before it disappeared in a tunnel beneath a hazel clump.“No; we’ll have a few while we are here,” said Scarlett, making a bound on to the trunk of a huge oak which had been blown down and lay horizontally; but while one portion of its roots stood up shaggy and weird-looking, the rest remained in the ground, and supported the life of the old tree, which along its mighty bole was covered with sturdy young shoots for about thirty feet from the roots. There it forked into two branches, each of which was far bigger than the trunk of an ordinary tree; but while one was fairly green, the other was perfectly dead, and such verdure as it displayed was that of moss and abundant patches of polypody, which flourished upon the decaying wood.Opposite the spot where Scarlett leaped upon the tree-trunk—that is to say, on the other side—the thicket was too dense to invite descent, and the lad began to walk along toward the fork, pressing the young branches aside as he went, followed by Fred, who had leapt up and joined him.“Here, I’m getting so hot,” cried the latter. “What’s the good of slaving along here! Let’s go back.”“I don’t like going back in anything,” replied Scarlett, as he walked on till he reached the fork, and continued his way along the living branch of the old tree, with Fred still following, till they stood in the midst of a maze of jagged and gnarled branches rising high above their heads, and shutting them in.These dead boughs were from the fellow limb to that on which they stood, the two huge trunks being about six feet apart.“There, now we must go back,” said Fred.“No. It looks more open there,” cried Scarlett. “If we could jump on to the other trunk, we could go on beyond.”“Well, anybody could jump that,” said Fred.“Except Fred Forrester,” replied Scarlett, mockingly.“What! not jump that? I’ll soon show you.”“No, no; you can’t do it, Fred, and you may hurt yourself.”“Well, that will not hurt you. Here goes.”“Mind that branch there.”“Oh yes, I’ll mind the branches; and you have to do it when I’ve done. Way he!”Fred stooped down, with his feet close together and his arms pressed to his sides, bent forward and jumped cleverly quite over the intervening space, and came down upon the great dead moss-covered trunk.There was a crash, and it seemed to Scarlett for the moment that his companion’s heels had slipped, and that he had gone down on the other side among the bushy growth that sprung up; but a second glance showed him that the apparently solid trunk was merely a shell, through which Fred had passed completely out of sight.“Hoi! Fred! Hurt yourself!” cried Scarlett, laughing heartily.There was no reply.“Fred! Hoi! Where are you?”Still no reply. And now, beginning to feel alarmed, Scarlett lowered himself down, and forced his way through the tangle of little shrubby boughs growing round him, to the dead trunk, and found himself within a breastwork of rotten bark as high as he could reach, and which crumbled away as he tried to get up, one great green mossy patch breaking down and covering him with damp, fungus-smelling touchwood.“Fred! Where are you? Don’t be stupid, and play with a fellow. Do you hear?”Still there was no reply, and Scarlett gave an angry stamp on the soft ground.“He’s hiding away. I won’t trouble about him,” muttered the boy. Then aloud—“Very well, lad. I shan’t come after you. I’m going back to the lake side.”Scarlett began to struggle back, making a great deal of rustling and crackling of dead wood; but he had not the slightest intention of leaving his companion behind, in case anything might have happened to him. So he clambered back through the brush of oak shoots on to the sound limb, and walked slowly back to the folk to try and walk along the dead portion of the tree; but before he had progressed six feet, he began to find that it was giving way, so he descended, and then slowly creeping in and out among the dead branches, sometimes crawling under and sometimes over, he began to make his way to the spot where Fred had disappeared.It proved, however, a far more difficult task than he had imagined, for pieces of the jagged oak boughs caught in his jerkin; then he found that in stretching over one leg he had stepped into a perfect tangle of bramble, whose hooked thorns laid tight hold of his breeches, and scratched him outrageously as he tried to draw his limb back. Finding that to go forward was the easier, he pushed on, and took three more steps, vowing vengeance against his companion the while.“It’s horribly stupid of me,” he muttered. “I don’t see why I should take all this trouble to help a fellow who is only playing tricks, and will laugh when I find him. Oh, how sharp!”Still there was the latent thought that Fred might have hurt himself, and Scarlett pressed on; but, all the same, seeing in imagination Fred’s laughing face and mocking eyes. In fact, so sure, after all, did he feel that his companion was watching him from somewhere close by, that he kept thrusting the rough growth aside, and looking in all directions.“I’ll give him such a topper for this,” he muttered; and then as he struggled on another foot, he suddenly stopped short, looked straight ahead, and exclaimed loudly, “There, I can see you. Don’t be stupid, you old ostrich, hiding there. Now then, come out.”Scarlett’s ruse was a failure. “He knows it isn’t true,” muttered the lad. “Serve me right for telling lies. It was only my fun, Fred,” he cried hastily, to make honest confession of his fib. “But don’t go on like that. Come out now, and let’s get back. It makes me so hot.”He listened, and in the stillness of the wilderness he could have heard any one breathing, if he had been close at hand; but all was perfectly still, until, high up in a neighbouring tree, a greenfinch uttered its mournful little harsh note, which sounded like the utterance of the wordwheeze.“Surely he hasn’t hurt himself,” muttered Scarlett; and then aloud, as an uncomfortable sensation came over him—“Here, Fred! Fred! lad, where are you? Why don’t you speak?”“As if I don’t know where he is,” muttered Scarlett again, now growing thoroughly alarmed. “He must have slipped and hurt his back.—All right; I’m coming,” he cried. “With you directly, as soon as I can get through this horrible tangle.—That’s better. Now then, what’s the matter? Fred, where are you? I say, do call out, or something. I don’t like it. Fred, lad, are you hurt?”And all this time he was forcing his way onward, the brambles tearing and the old oak wood crackling. The greenfinch uttered its mournfulwheezeonce more, and fled in alarm as Scarlett broke down a good-sized branch which barred his way, the rotten dry wood snapping with a sharp report; and then, panting and hot after his heavy labour to get through so short a space, he forced himself to the place where Fred had landed, and, to his utter astonishment, found that on his side the whole of the trunk was gone, merely leaving the shell-like portion which had impeded him before, while below the crumbled tree-trunk was a great gap.For a few moments he stood there aghast. Then, recovering his presence of mind, he pushed aside more of the growth which impeded him, and looked down into a narrow pit which was choked with broken wood and ferns.“Fred!” he shouted; but there was no reply. There, however, beneath him, he could see his companion’s head and shoulders, with eyes closed, or seeming to be in the dim light, and only about five feet below where he stood.Without a moment’s hesitation, but trembling the while for fear that this might be some terribly deep pit into which his companion might fall if once the broken boughs which supported him gave way, Scarlett tried bough after bough of the old oak to find one upon which he could depend; but they all crackled in a way that threatened snapping if he trusted one; so, reaching back, he got hold of a stout hazel which seemed to be a dozen or fourteen feet high, dragged it down, and holding it by twisting his hand among the twigs at the top, he began to descend.At every movement the earth crumbled, and the bed of rotten wood supporting Fred, as he lay back with his face to the light, shook so that at any moment Scarlett expected to see it descend into the profound abyss below. But in spite of this, as he climbed down the short distance, he realised the state of affairs—that in its fall the oak had crushed in the masonry arch over some old well-like place, leaving this terrible hole securely covered till the wood had rotted away; and that now it had been Fred’s misfortune to leap upon the spot, go through, and be held up by the broken wood, which formed a kind of rough scaffold a short distance below.Should he run back for help?No; he could not leave Fred like that. And yet when he reached him he was afraid that the slightest touch would send him down; and now he realised how fortunate it was that Fred had been hurt, and had remained insensible, for if he had struggled, the possibility was that he must have gone through at once.Short as the distance was, Scarlett had to take the greatest precautions, for, as he tried to get foothold, something gave way beneath him, and he hung by the hazel, feeling as if all the blood in his body had rushed to his heart, for there was a loud hollow splash, which went echoing horribly away, and he found himself with his eyes on a level with the old crumbling masonry forming an arch.He recovered himself though directly, for he could stretch out a hand and touch Fred.The touch had instant effect, for the lad opened his eyes, stared at him wildly, and then said quickly—“What’s the matter?”“Nothing much, if you are careful. You have fallen, and are hanging here. Now—”“Fallen? Oh yes, I remember; the tree,” cried Fred. “Oh, my head, my head!”“Never mind your head,” whispered Scarlett. “Now listen.”“I say, what hole’s this? Is it a well?” said Fred, eagerly.“Don’t, pray don’t talk. Now, can you reach up and get hold of the hazel above my hands?”“Dare say I can,” said Fred, coolly. “Yes. There!”“Then be careful. You are held up by that broken wood. Now try and draw yourself out.”“Can’t,” said Fred, after one effort. “I’m held tight; wedged in by this wood.”“Try again; but be careful, whatever you do.”“Wait a moment. Oh, my head, my head! I hit the back of it on something.”“Ah, mind!” cried Scarlett, in agony. “Don’t think about what is beneath you, but try to climb up.”“Of course: only my head hurts so. I gave it such a knock.”“Yes, yes,” cried Scarlett, impatiently; “but do mind.”“Well, I am minding; only don’t be in such a fuss. I must get this piece of broken bough away.”“No,” cried Scarlett, in agony; “don’t leave go your hold.”“But can’t you see,” cried Fred, impatiently, “that this is just like a wire trap? I’ve gone through it, and the points are all round me, holding me from coming back.”“Yes, I see something of the sort; but if you leave go, you may fall.”“How?”“By passing through. Now, I’ll pull you if I can. Make a struggle at once before you grow weaker.”“Wait a bit. I’m not going to grow weaker. I mean to get stronger. Don’t you fidget. I’ll be up there in no time.”Scarlett groaned in his nervous agony, and the great drops stood upon his brow. He had found hold for one foot by thrusting it in above a snake-like root which formed quite a loop in the broken-away soil, and now, reaching down, he thrust his hand within the collar of Fred’s jerkin, and held with all his force.In those moments of excitement, he could not help thinking how often it was that the looker-on suffered far more than the one in peril, and he found himself marvelling at his companion’s coolness, suspended there as he was with the dreadful echoing abyss below him, that which had given forth so terrible a splash when the stones of the old arch gave way.“Now then,” cried Fred, as he gazed in his companion’s ghastly face, “when I say ‘Now,’ you give a good tug, and I’ll shake myself clear in no time.”“No, no; I dare not,” faltered Scarlett.“What a coward! Well, then, let go, and let me do it myself.”“No, no, Fred; pray take my advice. Don’t attempt to stir like that. Only try making one steady draw upward. As soon as you get free of those broken branches, which hold you so tightly, they’ll all fall with a splash below.”“Of course they will,” said Fred, coolly.“I don’t seem to be able to make you understand your danger.”“Isn’t any,” said Fred.“No danger?”“No; and, look here, it’s getting precious cold to my legs, so here goes.”“Fred, listen! If you shake and move those branches which hold you down, you will go to the bottom.”“Can’t,” cried Fred.“How can you be so foolish, when I am advising you for your good?”“I’m not foolish. I want to get out, and you want me to stay.”“But you’ll fall to the bottom of this horrible hole.”“Can’t,” cried Fred.“Can’t?”“No; I’m standing on the bottom now.”“Fred!”“Well, so I am, with the water just over my knees.”“Oh!”“Well, if you don’t believe it, come down here and try.”
The adventure in the Rill cave was talked about for a few days, and several plans were made for its further exploration; but, in spite of the talking, no further visit was made in that direction.
“You see, we ought to get a boat,” Fred said, “and row right to the mouth, and go in that way next time, and we haven’t got a boat.”
“And no likelihood of getting one,” said Scarlett, thoughtfully. “Shall we go down again, and take your Samson with us this time?”
“I don’t see that there’s any good in it; and see what a mess we should be in again. I was full of little tiny bits of slate all in my hair, and down my back, and, after all, it wasn’t worth the trouble.”
“Made me feel a bit queer. I say, Scar, only fancy being shut up there, and starving to death.”
Scarlett gave an involuntary shiver.
“Don’t talk about it.”
“I say, starving to death makes you think about eating. When are your people coming over again to supper?”
“I don’t know,” said Scarlett, with an uneasy sensation.
“What’s the matter, Scar?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure. I think your father and mine have fallen out again.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Something I heard my mother saying to him.”
“Well, they’ll soon be friends again, I dare say.”
“I hope so. But, Fred, how everybody seems to be talking now about the troubles in the east.”
“Well, let them,” laughed Fred. “We don’t want any of their troubles in the west. What do you say to an afternoon’s nutting?”
“The nuts are not half ripe.”
“Well, let’s get your Nat’s ferret, and try for a rabbit.”
“He would not lend it to us.”
“Let’s go down on the shore, and collect shells for your Lil.”
“She has more than she wants now.”
“Well, let’s do something. I vote we go down and hunt out the way into that passage. We can do that without getting our heads full of slate.”
Scarlett acceded readily, the more so that ever since their adventure in the passage, the place had had a peculiar fascination for both lads. They often stopped in the middle of some pursuit to talk about the curious idea of making a door to be entered by lying down, and contriving it out of a stair. Then there were the ingenious peculiarities of the old passage, and the strange gloom of the oak chamber, and the dark vault, with its heap of old arms, which they regretted not to have brought out to try and restore to something like their former condition.
For, in spite of previous failure, the idea of discovering the second entrance to that passage was often suggesting itself to the lads; and, in consequence, they began to haunt the edge of the lake, feeling sure that some day or another accident would direct them to the very spot they had searched for so long.
Scarlett insisted that they would find the opening right down in the water, while, on the other hand, Fred maintained the opposite.
“Nobody would be such a noodle as to build his back-door right down in the water,” he said, “unless he meant the place for a bath. No; we shall find that doorway out in the wood somewhere, you mark my words, Scar. I dare say, if we were to take billhooks and cut and hack away the branches, we should find it soon enough.”
Scarlett shook his head, but joined in the search, one which, in spite of their peering about, proved to be in vain, and, after being well scratched by brambles and briars, Scarlett had his own way again, and they began to hunt the shore.
The broad sheet of water ran up in quite a bay toward the fine old English mansion, and round this bay were dense clumps of hazels, patches of alder, and old oak-trees grew right on the edge of the perpendicular bank, their roots deep down beneath the black leaf-mould, which here formed the bottom of the clear water.
“It must be here somewhere,” said Scarlett, one sunny afternoon, as they sat on the mossy roots of one of the great oaks, and idly picked off sheets of delicate green vegetable velvet and flakes of creamy and grey lichen to throw into the water.
“Yes, it must be here somewhere, of course; but I don’t see any use in getting scratched by briars for nothing. We never seem to get any nearer to it. Perhaps we were wrong, and it’s only a kind of well, after all.”
“No,” said Scarlett; “they would not make a well there.”
“Then we got muddled over the way we went, and, perhaps, while we are looking for the entrance this side, it’s over the other.”
“No,” said Scarlett again, “I don’t think that.”
“But if there had been a way in here from the lake, some one must have seen it before now. We should have noticed it when we were fishing or nesting. Or, if we had not seen it, your Nat or one of the other gardeners must have found it.”
“No, they must not. I don’t see any must about it. Perhaps it’s too cleverly hidden away, or I shouldn’t wonder if, since it was made, a tree had grown all over the entrance, and shut it right up.”
“And we shall never find it.”
“Not unless we cut the tree down.”
“And, of course, we don’t know which tree to cut.”
“And if we did, my father would not have a tree touched on any account. Remember how angry he was with the wind?”
“What, when it blew down the big elm?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
“I say,” said Fred, yawning, “let’s give it up. What do we care about where the passage comes out! We know where it goes in.”
“Foxes always have two holes,” said Scarlett, dreamily.
“So do rabbits. Lots of holes sometimes. But we’re not foxes, and we’re not rabbits.”
“No; but you’ll be like a water-rat directly, if you sit on that moss. It’s as slippery as can be close to the edge. Come and get some nuts.”
“Not ripe enough,” said Fred, idly.
“Never mind; let’s get some, whether or no.”
“Where shall we go? We’ve got all there are about the edge of the lake.”
“Let’s go down there by the big oaks. There’s a great clump of nuts just beyond, where we have not been yet.”
“Oh yes, we have,” said Fred, laughing; “leastwise, I have—one day when I came over and you weren’t at home.”
“That’s always your way, Fred. I never come over to your place and take your things.”
“Halloa!” laughed Fred, rising slowly from where he had lounged upon the mossy, buttress-like roots. “Who came and helped himself to my gilliflower apples?”
Scarlett laughed. “Well, they looked so tempting, and we were to have picked them that day. Come along.”
They went crushing and rustling through the woody wilderness for about a hundred yards from the side of the lake. It was a part sacred to the birds and rabbits, a dense dark thicket where oaks and beeches shut out the light of day, and for generations past the woodman’s axe had never struck a blow. Here and there the forest monarchs had fallen from old age, and where they had left a vacancy hazel stubs flourished, springing up gaily, and revelling on the rotten wood and dead leaves which covered the ground, and among which grew patches of nuts and briar, with the dark dewberry and swarthy dwale.
Here, as they walked, the lads’ feet crushed in the moss-covered, rotten wood, and at every step a faint damp odour of mould, mingled with the strong scent of crushed ferns and fungi, rose to their nostrils.
“Never mind the nuts,” said Fred; “let’s get out in the sunshine again. Pst! there he goes.”
He stopped short as he spoke, watching the scuttling away of a rabbit, whose white cottony tail was seen for a moment before it disappeared in a tunnel beneath a hazel clump.
“No; we’ll have a few while we are here,” said Scarlett, making a bound on to the trunk of a huge oak which had been blown down and lay horizontally; but while one portion of its roots stood up shaggy and weird-looking, the rest remained in the ground, and supported the life of the old tree, which along its mighty bole was covered with sturdy young shoots for about thirty feet from the roots. There it forked into two branches, each of which was far bigger than the trunk of an ordinary tree; but while one was fairly green, the other was perfectly dead, and such verdure as it displayed was that of moss and abundant patches of polypody, which flourished upon the decaying wood.
Opposite the spot where Scarlett leaped upon the tree-trunk—that is to say, on the other side—the thicket was too dense to invite descent, and the lad began to walk along toward the fork, pressing the young branches aside as he went, followed by Fred, who had leapt up and joined him.
“Here, I’m getting so hot,” cried the latter. “What’s the good of slaving along here! Let’s go back.”
“I don’t like going back in anything,” replied Scarlett, as he walked on till he reached the fork, and continued his way along the living branch of the old tree, with Fred still following, till they stood in the midst of a maze of jagged and gnarled branches rising high above their heads, and shutting them in.
These dead boughs were from the fellow limb to that on which they stood, the two huge trunks being about six feet apart.
“There, now we must go back,” said Fred.
“No. It looks more open there,” cried Scarlett. “If we could jump on to the other trunk, we could go on beyond.”
“Well, anybody could jump that,” said Fred.
“Except Fred Forrester,” replied Scarlett, mockingly.
“What! not jump that? I’ll soon show you.”
“No, no; you can’t do it, Fred, and you may hurt yourself.”
“Well, that will not hurt you. Here goes.”
“Mind that branch there.”
“Oh yes, I’ll mind the branches; and you have to do it when I’ve done. Way he!”
Fred stooped down, with his feet close together and his arms pressed to his sides, bent forward and jumped cleverly quite over the intervening space, and came down upon the great dead moss-covered trunk.
There was a crash, and it seemed to Scarlett for the moment that his companion’s heels had slipped, and that he had gone down on the other side among the bushy growth that sprung up; but a second glance showed him that the apparently solid trunk was merely a shell, through which Fred had passed completely out of sight.
“Hoi! Fred! Hurt yourself!” cried Scarlett, laughing heartily.
There was no reply.
“Fred! Hoi! Where are you?”
Still no reply. And now, beginning to feel alarmed, Scarlett lowered himself down, and forced his way through the tangle of little shrubby boughs growing round him, to the dead trunk, and found himself within a breastwork of rotten bark as high as he could reach, and which crumbled away as he tried to get up, one great green mossy patch breaking down and covering him with damp, fungus-smelling touchwood.
“Fred! Where are you? Don’t be stupid, and play with a fellow. Do you hear?”
Still there was no reply, and Scarlett gave an angry stamp on the soft ground.
“He’s hiding away. I won’t trouble about him,” muttered the boy. Then aloud—“Very well, lad. I shan’t come after you. I’m going back to the lake side.”
Scarlett began to struggle back, making a great deal of rustling and crackling of dead wood; but he had not the slightest intention of leaving his companion behind, in case anything might have happened to him. So he clambered back through the brush of oak shoots on to the sound limb, and walked slowly back to the folk to try and walk along the dead portion of the tree; but before he had progressed six feet, he began to find that it was giving way, so he descended, and then slowly creeping in and out among the dead branches, sometimes crawling under and sometimes over, he began to make his way to the spot where Fred had disappeared.
It proved, however, a far more difficult task than he had imagined, for pieces of the jagged oak boughs caught in his jerkin; then he found that in stretching over one leg he had stepped into a perfect tangle of bramble, whose hooked thorns laid tight hold of his breeches, and scratched him outrageously as he tried to draw his limb back. Finding that to go forward was the easier, he pushed on, and took three more steps, vowing vengeance against his companion the while.
“It’s horribly stupid of me,” he muttered. “I don’t see why I should take all this trouble to help a fellow who is only playing tricks, and will laugh when I find him. Oh, how sharp!”
Still there was the latent thought that Fred might have hurt himself, and Scarlett pressed on; but, all the same, seeing in imagination Fred’s laughing face and mocking eyes. In fact, so sure, after all, did he feel that his companion was watching him from somewhere close by, that he kept thrusting the rough growth aside, and looking in all directions.
“I’ll give him such a topper for this,” he muttered; and then as he struggled on another foot, he suddenly stopped short, looked straight ahead, and exclaimed loudly, “There, I can see you. Don’t be stupid, you old ostrich, hiding there. Now then, come out.”
Scarlett’s ruse was a failure. “He knows it isn’t true,” muttered the lad. “Serve me right for telling lies. It was only my fun, Fred,” he cried hastily, to make honest confession of his fib. “But don’t go on like that. Come out now, and let’s get back. It makes me so hot.”
He listened, and in the stillness of the wilderness he could have heard any one breathing, if he had been close at hand; but all was perfectly still, until, high up in a neighbouring tree, a greenfinch uttered its mournful little harsh note, which sounded like the utterance of the wordwheeze.
“Surely he hasn’t hurt himself,” muttered Scarlett; and then aloud, as an uncomfortable sensation came over him—“Here, Fred! Fred! lad, where are you? Why don’t you speak?”
“As if I don’t know where he is,” muttered Scarlett again, now growing thoroughly alarmed. “He must have slipped and hurt his back.—All right; I’m coming,” he cried. “With you directly, as soon as I can get through this horrible tangle.—That’s better. Now then, what’s the matter? Fred, where are you? I say, do call out, or something. I don’t like it. Fred, lad, are you hurt?”
And all this time he was forcing his way onward, the brambles tearing and the old oak wood crackling. The greenfinch uttered its mournfulwheezeonce more, and fled in alarm as Scarlett broke down a good-sized branch which barred his way, the rotten dry wood snapping with a sharp report; and then, panting and hot after his heavy labour to get through so short a space, he forced himself to the place where Fred had landed, and, to his utter astonishment, found that on his side the whole of the trunk was gone, merely leaving the shell-like portion which had impeded him before, while below the crumbled tree-trunk was a great gap.
For a few moments he stood there aghast. Then, recovering his presence of mind, he pushed aside more of the growth which impeded him, and looked down into a narrow pit which was choked with broken wood and ferns.
“Fred!” he shouted; but there was no reply. There, however, beneath him, he could see his companion’s head and shoulders, with eyes closed, or seeming to be in the dim light, and only about five feet below where he stood.
Without a moment’s hesitation, but trembling the while for fear that this might be some terribly deep pit into which his companion might fall if once the broken boughs which supported him gave way, Scarlett tried bough after bough of the old oak to find one upon which he could depend; but they all crackled in a way that threatened snapping if he trusted one; so, reaching back, he got hold of a stout hazel which seemed to be a dozen or fourteen feet high, dragged it down, and holding it by twisting his hand among the twigs at the top, he began to descend.
At every movement the earth crumbled, and the bed of rotten wood supporting Fred, as he lay back with his face to the light, shook so that at any moment Scarlett expected to see it descend into the profound abyss below. But in spite of this, as he climbed down the short distance, he realised the state of affairs—that in its fall the oak had crushed in the masonry arch over some old well-like place, leaving this terrible hole securely covered till the wood had rotted away; and that now it had been Fred’s misfortune to leap upon the spot, go through, and be held up by the broken wood, which formed a kind of rough scaffold a short distance below.
Should he run back for help?
No; he could not leave Fred like that. And yet when he reached him he was afraid that the slightest touch would send him down; and now he realised how fortunate it was that Fred had been hurt, and had remained insensible, for if he had struggled, the possibility was that he must have gone through at once.
Short as the distance was, Scarlett had to take the greatest precautions, for, as he tried to get foothold, something gave way beneath him, and he hung by the hazel, feeling as if all the blood in his body had rushed to his heart, for there was a loud hollow splash, which went echoing horribly away, and he found himself with his eyes on a level with the old crumbling masonry forming an arch.
He recovered himself though directly, for he could stretch out a hand and touch Fred.
The touch had instant effect, for the lad opened his eyes, stared at him wildly, and then said quickly—
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing much, if you are careful. You have fallen, and are hanging here. Now—”
“Fallen? Oh yes, I remember; the tree,” cried Fred. “Oh, my head, my head!”
“Never mind your head,” whispered Scarlett. “Now listen.”
“I say, what hole’s this? Is it a well?” said Fred, eagerly.
“Don’t, pray don’t talk. Now, can you reach up and get hold of the hazel above my hands?”
“Dare say I can,” said Fred, coolly. “Yes. There!”
“Then be careful. You are held up by that broken wood. Now try and draw yourself out.”
“Can’t,” said Fred, after one effort. “I’m held tight; wedged in by this wood.”
“Try again; but be careful, whatever you do.”
“Wait a moment. Oh, my head, my head! I hit the back of it on something.”
“Ah, mind!” cried Scarlett, in agony. “Don’t think about what is beneath you, but try to climb up.”
“Of course: only my head hurts so. I gave it such a knock.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Scarlett, impatiently; “but do mind.”
“Well, I am minding; only don’t be in such a fuss. I must get this piece of broken bough away.”
“No,” cried Scarlett, in agony; “don’t leave go your hold.”
“But can’t you see,” cried Fred, impatiently, “that this is just like a wire trap? I’ve gone through it, and the points are all round me, holding me from coming back.”
“Yes, I see something of the sort; but if you leave go, you may fall.”
“How?”
“By passing through. Now, I’ll pull you if I can. Make a struggle at once before you grow weaker.”
“Wait a bit. I’m not going to grow weaker. I mean to get stronger. Don’t you fidget. I’ll be up there in no time.”
Scarlett groaned in his nervous agony, and the great drops stood upon his brow. He had found hold for one foot by thrusting it in above a snake-like root which formed quite a loop in the broken-away soil, and now, reaching down, he thrust his hand within the collar of Fred’s jerkin, and held with all his force.
In those moments of excitement, he could not help thinking how often it was that the looker-on suffered far more than the one in peril, and he found himself marvelling at his companion’s coolness, suspended there as he was with the dreadful echoing abyss below him, that which had given forth so terrible a splash when the stones of the old arch gave way.
“Now then,” cried Fred, as he gazed in his companion’s ghastly face, “when I say ‘Now,’ you give a good tug, and I’ll shake myself clear in no time.”
“No, no; I dare not,” faltered Scarlett.
“What a coward! Well, then, let go, and let me do it myself.”
“No, no, Fred; pray take my advice. Don’t attempt to stir like that. Only try making one steady draw upward. As soon as you get free of those broken branches, which hold you so tightly, they’ll all fall with a splash below.”
“Of course they will,” said Fred, coolly.
“I don’t seem to be able to make you understand your danger.”
“Isn’t any,” said Fred.
“No danger?”
“No; and, look here, it’s getting precious cold to my legs, so here goes.”
“Fred, listen! If you shake and move those branches which hold you down, you will go to the bottom.”
“Can’t,” cried Fred.
“How can you be so foolish, when I am advising you for your good?”
“I’m not foolish. I want to get out, and you want me to stay.”
“But you’ll fall to the bottom of this horrible hole.”
“Can’t,” cried Fred.
“Can’t?”
“No; I’m standing on the bottom now.”
“Fred!”
“Well, so I am, with the water just over my knees.”
“Oh!”
“Well, if you don’t believe it, come down here and try.”
Chapter Eight.The Subterranean Way.Scarlett hung there from the hazel bough staring, and for a few moments utterly unable to realise that which his companion had said, till Fred gave himself a shake, like a great dog coming out of the water, and by degrees got one leg free, then the other, trampling down the broken wood, and standing at last on a level with his companion.“Did you think it was deep?” said the lad.“Deep? Yes; I did not know how deep. Then it is not a well?”“Why, of course not. Don’t you see it’s the passage we were looking for, and it does go down to the lake.”“The passage?”“Of course. Look, you can see a little both ways. Of course the top’s broken in here. Isn’t it droll that we should find it like this. But oh! my head. I gave it such a crack when I fell. It served me just as if I was a rabbit. I don’t know how long I’ve been like that.”Scarlett could not answer him, so excited had he become at the strange turn things had taken.“There, my head’s better now,” said Fred, as he sat at the edge of the hole after climbing lightly out: and as he spoke he amused himself by kicking down fragments of the side to listen to the echoing splash. “What do you say to going up to the house for a light? No; let’s get Nat’s stable lanthorn, and then go down here and see where the way out goes.”“I know,” cried Scarlett, eagerly.“Where?”“Why, down there, right away by the old tree clump—right out yonder.”“There can’t be a way out there, because we should have seen it.”“Perhaps it’s covered up so as to keep it hidden till it was wanted.”“Let’s go and see. But, stop a moment. We don’t want another way in, now we’ve got this.”“No,” said Scarlett. “I don’t know, though. Let’s go and see.”“All right; it will dry my legs,” replied Fred. And, getting up, the two lads made their way down to the head of the little bay nearest to the house, and then worked along among the alders which hung over the lake till they came to the part of the old forest Scarlett had named—an evergreen patch of about an acre, on which stood a dozen or two of the finest trees in the park.“Why,” cried Scarlett, “I remember old Dee—”“Nat’s father?”“Yes—saying that there once used to be a boathouse down here.”“Then, why didn’t we look there first?”“Because it was not a likely place, all that distance away.”Neither did it seem a likely place now, as they climbed over a rough, moss grown fence, and entered the unfrequented spot, to find old masses of rock peering out of the soil, ancient trees coated with ivy, and an abundance of thick undergrowth such as they had been fighting with a short time before.The task was less difficult, and they spent the next half-hour hunting along the edge of the lake, whose shore here was for the most part high and rocky, but broken here and there by shrubby patches of gorse and heather, in company with fine old birches, whose silvery trunks were reflected in the lake.“I knew you were wrong,” said Fred at last, as he sat down in a sunny spot to let his legs dry, “it couldn’t be here.”“Why not?”“Because, if it were here, we should have found it.”Scarlett said nothing, but stood at the edge of the rocky bank, now looking down into the water, now toward the bushes which were overhanging the lake. There were plenty of rather likely places, but none quite likely enough, and reluctantly agreeing at last that he might have been mistaken, he turned slowly away from the ivy covered perpendicular bank, and sauntered slowly back with his companion in silence.“My legs are getting drier now,” said Fred, suddenly. “What do you say—shall we fetch a lanthorn, and go down into the passage?”“I don’t see what you want with dry legs, if you are going to wade,” replied Scarlett, thoughtfully.“You don’t want to go.”“Yes, I do.”“You’re afraid.”“Perhaps so,” replied Scarlett; “but you are not, so let’s go and get the lanthorn.”A quarter of an hour later, the lanthorn was secretly obtained, lighted, and a supply of pieces of candle included, and then the question arose, How were they to get it down to the little wilderness unseen?“Somebody would be sure to come and look what we were doing.”“I know,” cried Scarlett. “Let’s get a big bucket, and a couple of rods, and they’ll think we are going to fish.”The idea was accepted at once, and the lads marched off, rods over shoulder, and the bucket swinging between them, its light unseen in the broad sunshine. The place was soon reached, and, taught by experience, they found a better way to the prostrate oak, and after a little struggling and scratching, stood gazing down.“Look hear, Scar,” cried Fred, “if we find a better way in, we can easily cover this place over with some old branches and fern roots, because it must be a secret way, or it’s of no use.”Scarlett quite agreed to this, and there they stood gazing up at the arrowy beams of sunshine which shot down through the leaves. Then they had a look down into the hole which, with its watery floor and darkness, was anything but tempting.“Don’t look very nice, Scar, does it?”“Not at all. Shall we give it up?”“If we do, as soon as we get home, we shall say what cowards we were.”“Yes, I shall,” replied Scarlett, “but, all the same, I don’t want to go down. Do you?”“No.”“And you don’t want me to go alone?”“No, I don’t think so. Here, Scar, don’t let’s give ourselves a chance to call ourselves cowards. I’ll go, if you will.”“I don’t want to go, but I will, if you will. Come along.”The hesitation was gone.“I’ll go first,” said Scar, “because you have been down, but I suppose we must be careful so as not to loosen any stones.”“Very well,” said Fred, rather unwillingly. “Give me the lanthorn to hold.”The light was drawn out of the bucket, and Scarlett prepared to descend; but this proved it longer task than was expected, for it was first necessary to drag out several pieces of broken branch.This being done, Scarlett looked up at his companion, who let himself down without hesitation, and they stood together with the daylight above them, and the narrow lugged stone passage stretching away to right and left.“Which way shall we go first?” asked Scarlett.“This way,” cried Fred, and his voice sounded so strange and hollow, that as he stood there up to his knees in water, which glimmered and shimmered on the black surface, he hesitated and wished that he had not agreed to go.For there before them lay a narrow path of light, ending in quite a sharp point, and seeming to point to the end of their journey.They both told themselves that they were not likely to meet anything that would do them harm, but, all the same, neither of them could help wondering whether there would be any unpleasant kind of fish in the depths as they neared the lake. That word depth, too, troubled them. It was easy enough to wade now, but suppose it should grow deeper suddenly, and they should step into some horrible hole. Suppose—“Look here,” cried Fred, suddenly, as they waded slowly on, listening to the whisper and splash of the water, “I wish you’d be quiet with your suppose this, and suppose that. You don’t want to frighten me, do you?”“Why, I never spoke,” cried Scar.“Then you must have been thinking aloud, for it seemed to me as if you were saying things on purpose to scare me.”“Well, it is enough to scare anybody, Fred; and I don’t mind saying to you that I don’t like it.”“But we will not go back?”“No.”“Only you might hold the light a little higher.”Scarlett obeyed, and they cautiously went on, with the water still about the same depth, and for prospect above, before, and on either side, there was the arch of rugged stones, the dripping wall, and the gleaming water.That was all, and after going about fifty yards, Fred exclaimed—“I say, this can never be of any use to us. Who’s going to wade through water for the sake of having a secret place?”“Nobody,” replied Scarlett; “but let’s go on, as we’ve gone so far.”“Ugh!”“What’s the matter?” cried Scarlett, stopping short suddenly.“I thought something laid hold of my leg. Mind!”Scarlett nearly dropped the lanthorn. “Oh, I say, Scar, that would be too horrible. Do be careful. I don’t want to be in the dark again.”“It was your fault, you pretending to be frightened.”“I didn’t pretend. I was frightened. It did seem as if something touched my leg. I say, how much farther do you think it is?”“What! to the end? I don’t know. Come along.”“Well, if anyone had told me that I should do such a thing as this, I wouldn’t have believed him,” grumbled Fred. “How cold the water feels!”“You wouldn’t mind if it was one of the streams, and we were after trout.”“No; because it would be all light and warm there, and we could see what we were doing. Don’t you think we might go back?”“No. Let’s go to the end now. I’m sure this is the way down to the lake, and we shall find the entrance. Perhaps we shall find the end blocked up, and then when we open it all the water will rush out, and we shall have a dry passage after all.”“Then you will not give it up?”“No,” said Scarlett, doggedly. “It’s our place, and I want to be able to tell father all about it.”“No, no; don’t do that,” cried Fred, in dismay.“I don’t mean yet. I mean when we’ve done with it.”“I’ve done with it now,” muttered Fred. “I don’t see any fun in going sop, sop, squeeze, squatter, through all this cold, dark water. Eh! what’s that—the end of it?”“I think so,” said Scarlett, holding the lanthorn up as high as he could. “Here are some steps and a door.”“Of course; then that must be the door that opens on the lake.”“No, it can’t be, for the steps are dry, and—I say, Fred!”“What is it?”“Look here,” cried Scarlett. “This is strange. Here’s a chamber or cellar.”“Just like the other we found.”“Like it,” cried Scarlett; “why, it is it!”“What nonsense! That one was toward the house. This one is toward the lake.”“Nonsense or no, there’s the old armour in the corner.”The two lads stood with the lanthorn held up, staring at the heap, and then at the rusty hinged door, and lastly at one another.“Do you believe in enchantment, Fred?” said Scarlett, at last.“No, not a bit. Enchantment, and witches, and goblins, and all those sort of things, are nothing but stuff, father says.”“But isn’t it curious that we should have found ourselves here? It is the same, isn’t it?”“I think so. Yes, that’s the way into the house,” said Fred, staring along the dark passage. “But I don’t care whether it is or whether it isn’t. My legs are so wet that I mean to get out as soon as I can.”Scarlett held the lanthorn up again, and had one more good look round. Then, without a word, he turned, descended the steps into the water, and began to wade back.“Oh, I say, it is wet!” grumbled Fred, as he followed the lanthorn, watching their grotesque shadows on the wall, the flashing of the light on the water, and the glimmering on the damp walls.Neither of the lads spoke now as they waded on, for each was trying to puzzle out the problem of how it was that they should have journeyed backward; but no light came.“I shall make it out,” said Fred, “as soon as we get in the sunshine again. Go on a bit faster, Scar.”But there was no temptation to go faster, and the slow wading was continued, till a glimmering of light cheered them; and then quicker progress was made, for the opening seemed to send down more and more light as they approached, till they could see quite a fringe of roots, which had forced their way through the arch of rugged stones, and at last make out how the roof of the passage had been driven in by the fall of the tree.“Oh! there is something now,” cried Scarlett, starting.“What is it?”“Something did touch my leg.”“Kick it!” cried Fred, huskily. “Look out, Scar! it’s swimming towards you. Mind, mind!”The boy had raised up his foot to kick, but placed it down again, for the terror proved to be a piece of rotten wood floating on the surface.“How easy it is to be frightened!” said Scarlett, drawing a long breath, as they stood once more at the opening.“Yes, far too easy,” grumbled Fred. “I wish it wasn’t. Shall I go up first, or will you?”“Isn’t it a pity to go up without finding the way?” said Scarlett, hesitatingly.“It does seem to be; but I’ve had enough of it. Let’s go up now.”“Shall we? I know we shall want to come down again.”“Yes,” said Fred, hesitating; “I suppose we shall. Do you feel to mind it so much now?”“I don’t think so.”“Let’s go on, then.”“Shall we, Fred?”“Yes; didn’t I say so?” cried Fred, crossly. “Go on; you’ve got the light.”Without another word, Scarlett held the light above his head.“It seems very rum though, Scar. That must be the way to the house.”“Well, let’s see.”Scarlett started once more with the lanthorn along the tunnel in the other direction, apparently toward the house, while, with a maliciously merry laugh on his face, Fred hung back, and half hid himself among the fallen wood and stones.Scarlett went on quite a couple of dozen yards, talking the while, every word he said coming back as in a loud whisper distinctly to the mouth of the hole.“Don’t seem to get any deeper, Fred. I’m glad we came, because we shall find it out this time.”Fred chuckled and watched, and, to his surprise, he saw his companion and the light gradually disappear, leaving the tunnel in obscurity.“Why, I shall have to go in the dark,” cried Fred to himself. “Oh!” And, startled more than he had startled his companion, he hurried after him, so eager to overtake the light that he nearly went headlong in the water, for his body went quicker than his legs.“Hi! stop a minute, Scar!” he cried; and he noted, as he hurried on, that the passage made a great curve, though it was so gradual that he could not tell its extent.“Why, I thought you were close behind me,” said Scarlett, as he overtook him. “Lean a little forward, and you’ll find it easier to go along through the water. It’s getting just a little deeper now.”“Then this must be the way to the lake, after all.”They persevered, going steadily on for some time, and, with the water gradually creeping up and up till it was mid-thigh, and then higher and higher till it was almost to their hips, and then they stopped.“I shan’t go any farther, Scar,” cried Fred. “I don’t want to have to swim.”“Yes, it is getting deep,” said Scarlett, thoughtfully.“Couldn’t get a boat down here, could we!”“No; but we might get one of the big tubs,” replied Scarlett. “It would hold us both. Shall we go back now?”“Yes; we’re so horribly wet; but hold the lanthorn up higher, and— Oh, I say!”Scarlett had obeyed, and raised it so high that the lanthorn struck slightly against the rough roof, and, as the candle happened to be already burning away in the socket, this was sufficient to extinguish it, and for the moment they were in total darkness, or so it seemed to them in the sudden change.Then Fred cried exultantly, “Look! look!” and pointed to a bright, rough-looking star of light.“Sunshine,” cried Scarlett. “Then that is the entrance. Shall we go on?”Fred had already squeezed by him, and was wading on toward the light, which proved to be not more than fifty feet away.“Come along!” he cried; “it isn’t very much deeper, only up to my middle now. Here, I’m touching it. This is the end, and—it’s—it’s—no, I can’t quite make out where it is,” he continued, as he darkened the hole by placing his face to it; “but I can see the lake, and I could see where, only there’s a whole lot of ivy hanging down.”“Can you get your head through?”“No; too small. Come and look.”Fred made way for his companion, and, while he was peering through, the other amused himself by feeling the flat surface which stopped farther progress, and soon made out that there was a wall of rugged stone, built up evidently to stop the entrance; and this was matted together with ivy strands and roots which had forced their way in.“Yes,” said Scarlett, at last, as he drew away; “this is the entrance, and now we’ve got to find it from outside.”“Yes; but how?”“Oh, we shall soon find it. Get the boat, and hunt all along till we find a place that has been built like a wall, and then search for this hole.”“And how about the ivy all over it?”Scarlett was silent for a while.“I had forgotten all about the ivy,” he said.“If we could tell about where it was, I dare say we could soon find it.”“Yes, but we can’t tell yet.”“And we shan’t find out by stopping here, Scar; and oh, I say—”“What’s the matter?”“The water’s right up in my pockets. Come along back.”“But we’ve got to go in the dark.”“Can’t help it. I don’t mind so much now, for we can’t go wrong. Come along.”Fred took the lead now, and they went steadily back, feeling their way along by the damp wall, and casting back from time to time regretful looks at the bright star of light, which grew less and less, and then disappeared; but as it passed from sight, they saw to their great delight that there was a faint dawn, as it were, on ahead, and this grew brighter and brighter, till they seemed to turn a corner, and saw the bright rays shooting down through the hole, which they reached with a rather confused but correct notion that about here the passage took a double curve, somewhat in the shape of the letter S; but they were too eager to get out into the wood again to give much attention to the configuration of the place.“Hah!” exclaimed Fred, taking a long breath, and then beginning to squeeze the water out of his nether garment, “that’s better. I say, hadn’t we better hide this hole?”“I don’t think we need; nobody ever comes here. Let’s go and have a look down by the lake.”
Scarlett hung there from the hazel bough staring, and for a few moments utterly unable to realise that which his companion had said, till Fred gave himself a shake, like a great dog coming out of the water, and by degrees got one leg free, then the other, trampling down the broken wood, and standing at last on a level with his companion.
“Did you think it was deep?” said the lad.
“Deep? Yes; I did not know how deep. Then it is not a well?”
“Why, of course not. Don’t you see it’s the passage we were looking for, and it does go down to the lake.”
“The passage?”
“Of course. Look, you can see a little both ways. Of course the top’s broken in here. Isn’t it droll that we should find it like this. But oh! my head. I gave it such a crack when I fell. It served me just as if I was a rabbit. I don’t know how long I’ve been like that.”
Scarlett could not answer him, so excited had he become at the strange turn things had taken.
“There, my head’s better now,” said Fred, as he sat at the edge of the hole after climbing lightly out: and as he spoke he amused himself by kicking down fragments of the side to listen to the echoing splash. “What do you say to going up to the house for a light? No; let’s get Nat’s stable lanthorn, and then go down here and see where the way out goes.”
“I know,” cried Scarlett, eagerly.
“Where?”
“Why, down there, right away by the old tree clump—right out yonder.”
“There can’t be a way out there, because we should have seen it.”
“Perhaps it’s covered up so as to keep it hidden till it was wanted.”
“Let’s go and see. But, stop a moment. We don’t want another way in, now we’ve got this.”
“No,” said Scarlett. “I don’t know, though. Let’s go and see.”
“All right; it will dry my legs,” replied Fred. And, getting up, the two lads made their way down to the head of the little bay nearest to the house, and then worked along among the alders which hung over the lake till they came to the part of the old forest Scarlett had named—an evergreen patch of about an acre, on which stood a dozen or two of the finest trees in the park.
“Why,” cried Scarlett, “I remember old Dee—”
“Nat’s father?”
“Yes—saying that there once used to be a boathouse down here.”
“Then, why didn’t we look there first?”
“Because it was not a likely place, all that distance away.”
Neither did it seem a likely place now, as they climbed over a rough, moss grown fence, and entered the unfrequented spot, to find old masses of rock peering out of the soil, ancient trees coated with ivy, and an abundance of thick undergrowth such as they had been fighting with a short time before.
The task was less difficult, and they spent the next half-hour hunting along the edge of the lake, whose shore here was for the most part high and rocky, but broken here and there by shrubby patches of gorse and heather, in company with fine old birches, whose silvery trunks were reflected in the lake.
“I knew you were wrong,” said Fred at last, as he sat down in a sunny spot to let his legs dry, “it couldn’t be here.”
“Why not?”
“Because, if it were here, we should have found it.”
Scarlett said nothing, but stood at the edge of the rocky bank, now looking down into the water, now toward the bushes which were overhanging the lake. There were plenty of rather likely places, but none quite likely enough, and reluctantly agreeing at last that he might have been mistaken, he turned slowly away from the ivy covered perpendicular bank, and sauntered slowly back with his companion in silence.
“My legs are getting drier now,” said Fred, suddenly. “What do you say—shall we fetch a lanthorn, and go down into the passage?”
“I don’t see what you want with dry legs, if you are going to wade,” replied Scarlett, thoughtfully.
“You don’t want to go.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You’re afraid.”
“Perhaps so,” replied Scarlett; “but you are not, so let’s go and get the lanthorn.”
A quarter of an hour later, the lanthorn was secretly obtained, lighted, and a supply of pieces of candle included, and then the question arose, How were they to get it down to the little wilderness unseen?
“Somebody would be sure to come and look what we were doing.”
“I know,” cried Scarlett. “Let’s get a big bucket, and a couple of rods, and they’ll think we are going to fish.”
The idea was accepted at once, and the lads marched off, rods over shoulder, and the bucket swinging between them, its light unseen in the broad sunshine. The place was soon reached, and, taught by experience, they found a better way to the prostrate oak, and after a little struggling and scratching, stood gazing down.
“Look hear, Scar,” cried Fred, “if we find a better way in, we can easily cover this place over with some old branches and fern roots, because it must be a secret way, or it’s of no use.”
Scarlett quite agreed to this, and there they stood gazing up at the arrowy beams of sunshine which shot down through the leaves. Then they had a look down into the hole which, with its watery floor and darkness, was anything but tempting.
“Don’t look very nice, Scar, does it?”
“Not at all. Shall we give it up?”
“If we do, as soon as we get home, we shall say what cowards we were.”
“Yes, I shall,” replied Scarlett, “but, all the same, I don’t want to go down. Do you?”
“No.”
“And you don’t want me to go alone?”
“No, I don’t think so. Here, Scar, don’t let’s give ourselves a chance to call ourselves cowards. I’ll go, if you will.”
“I don’t want to go, but I will, if you will. Come along.”
The hesitation was gone.
“I’ll go first,” said Scar, “because you have been down, but I suppose we must be careful so as not to loosen any stones.”
“Very well,” said Fred, rather unwillingly. “Give me the lanthorn to hold.”
The light was drawn out of the bucket, and Scarlett prepared to descend; but this proved it longer task than was expected, for it was first necessary to drag out several pieces of broken branch.
This being done, Scarlett looked up at his companion, who let himself down without hesitation, and they stood together with the daylight above them, and the narrow lugged stone passage stretching away to right and left.
“Which way shall we go first?” asked Scarlett.
“This way,” cried Fred, and his voice sounded so strange and hollow, that as he stood there up to his knees in water, which glimmered and shimmered on the black surface, he hesitated and wished that he had not agreed to go.
For there before them lay a narrow path of light, ending in quite a sharp point, and seeming to point to the end of their journey.
They both told themselves that they were not likely to meet anything that would do them harm, but, all the same, neither of them could help wondering whether there would be any unpleasant kind of fish in the depths as they neared the lake. That word depth, too, troubled them. It was easy enough to wade now, but suppose it should grow deeper suddenly, and they should step into some horrible hole. Suppose—
“Look here,” cried Fred, suddenly, as they waded slowly on, listening to the whisper and splash of the water, “I wish you’d be quiet with your suppose this, and suppose that. You don’t want to frighten me, do you?”
“Why, I never spoke,” cried Scar.
“Then you must have been thinking aloud, for it seemed to me as if you were saying things on purpose to scare me.”
“Well, it is enough to scare anybody, Fred; and I don’t mind saying to you that I don’t like it.”
“But we will not go back?”
“No.”
“Only you might hold the light a little higher.”
Scarlett obeyed, and they cautiously went on, with the water still about the same depth, and for prospect above, before, and on either side, there was the arch of rugged stones, the dripping wall, and the gleaming water.
That was all, and after going about fifty yards, Fred exclaimed—
“I say, this can never be of any use to us. Who’s going to wade through water for the sake of having a secret place?”
“Nobody,” replied Scarlett; “but let’s go on, as we’ve gone so far.”
“Ugh!”
“What’s the matter?” cried Scarlett, stopping short suddenly.
“I thought something laid hold of my leg. Mind!”
Scarlett nearly dropped the lanthorn. “Oh, I say, Scar, that would be too horrible. Do be careful. I don’t want to be in the dark again.”
“It was your fault, you pretending to be frightened.”
“I didn’t pretend. I was frightened. It did seem as if something touched my leg. I say, how much farther do you think it is?”
“What! to the end? I don’t know. Come along.”
“Well, if anyone had told me that I should do such a thing as this, I wouldn’t have believed him,” grumbled Fred. “How cold the water feels!”
“You wouldn’t mind if it was one of the streams, and we were after trout.”
“No; because it would be all light and warm there, and we could see what we were doing. Don’t you think we might go back?”
“No. Let’s go to the end now. I’m sure this is the way down to the lake, and we shall find the entrance. Perhaps we shall find the end blocked up, and then when we open it all the water will rush out, and we shall have a dry passage after all.”
“Then you will not give it up?”
“No,” said Scarlett, doggedly. “It’s our place, and I want to be able to tell father all about it.”
“No, no; don’t do that,” cried Fred, in dismay.
“I don’t mean yet. I mean when we’ve done with it.”
“I’ve done with it now,” muttered Fred. “I don’t see any fun in going sop, sop, squeeze, squatter, through all this cold, dark water. Eh! what’s that—the end of it?”
“I think so,” said Scarlett, holding the lanthorn up as high as he could. “Here are some steps and a door.”
“Of course; then that must be the door that opens on the lake.”
“No, it can’t be, for the steps are dry, and—I say, Fred!”
“What is it?”
“Look here,” cried Scarlett. “This is strange. Here’s a chamber or cellar.”
“Just like the other we found.”
“Like it,” cried Scarlett; “why, it is it!”
“What nonsense! That one was toward the house. This one is toward the lake.”
“Nonsense or no, there’s the old armour in the corner.”
The two lads stood with the lanthorn held up, staring at the heap, and then at the rusty hinged door, and lastly at one another.
“Do you believe in enchantment, Fred?” said Scarlett, at last.
“No, not a bit. Enchantment, and witches, and goblins, and all those sort of things, are nothing but stuff, father says.”
“But isn’t it curious that we should have found ourselves here? It is the same, isn’t it?”
“I think so. Yes, that’s the way into the house,” said Fred, staring along the dark passage. “But I don’t care whether it is or whether it isn’t. My legs are so wet that I mean to get out as soon as I can.”
Scarlett held the lanthorn up again, and had one more good look round. Then, without a word, he turned, descended the steps into the water, and began to wade back.
“Oh, I say, it is wet!” grumbled Fred, as he followed the lanthorn, watching their grotesque shadows on the wall, the flashing of the light on the water, and the glimmering on the damp walls.
Neither of the lads spoke now as they waded on, for each was trying to puzzle out the problem of how it was that they should have journeyed backward; but no light came.
“I shall make it out,” said Fred, “as soon as we get in the sunshine again. Go on a bit faster, Scar.”
But there was no temptation to go faster, and the slow wading was continued, till a glimmering of light cheered them; and then quicker progress was made, for the opening seemed to send down more and more light as they approached, till they could see quite a fringe of roots, which had forced their way through the arch of rugged stones, and at last make out how the roof of the passage had been driven in by the fall of the tree.
“Oh! there is something now,” cried Scarlett, starting.
“What is it?”
“Something did touch my leg.”
“Kick it!” cried Fred, huskily. “Look out, Scar! it’s swimming towards you. Mind, mind!”
The boy had raised up his foot to kick, but placed it down again, for the terror proved to be a piece of rotten wood floating on the surface.
“How easy it is to be frightened!” said Scarlett, drawing a long breath, as they stood once more at the opening.
“Yes, far too easy,” grumbled Fred. “I wish it wasn’t. Shall I go up first, or will you?”
“Isn’t it a pity to go up without finding the way?” said Scarlett, hesitatingly.
“It does seem to be; but I’ve had enough of it. Let’s go up now.”
“Shall we? I know we shall want to come down again.”
“Yes,” said Fred, hesitating; “I suppose we shall. Do you feel to mind it so much now?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Let’s go on, then.”
“Shall we, Fred?”
“Yes; didn’t I say so?” cried Fred, crossly. “Go on; you’ve got the light.”
Without another word, Scarlett held the light above his head.
“It seems very rum though, Scar. That must be the way to the house.”
“Well, let’s see.”
Scarlett started once more with the lanthorn along the tunnel in the other direction, apparently toward the house, while, with a maliciously merry laugh on his face, Fred hung back, and half hid himself among the fallen wood and stones.
Scarlett went on quite a couple of dozen yards, talking the while, every word he said coming back as in a loud whisper distinctly to the mouth of the hole.
“Don’t seem to get any deeper, Fred. I’m glad we came, because we shall find it out this time.”
Fred chuckled and watched, and, to his surprise, he saw his companion and the light gradually disappear, leaving the tunnel in obscurity.
“Why, I shall have to go in the dark,” cried Fred to himself. “Oh!” And, startled more than he had startled his companion, he hurried after him, so eager to overtake the light that he nearly went headlong in the water, for his body went quicker than his legs.
“Hi! stop a minute, Scar!” he cried; and he noted, as he hurried on, that the passage made a great curve, though it was so gradual that he could not tell its extent.
“Why, I thought you were close behind me,” said Scarlett, as he overtook him. “Lean a little forward, and you’ll find it easier to go along through the water. It’s getting just a little deeper now.”
“Then this must be the way to the lake, after all.”
They persevered, going steadily on for some time, and, with the water gradually creeping up and up till it was mid-thigh, and then higher and higher till it was almost to their hips, and then they stopped.
“I shan’t go any farther, Scar,” cried Fred. “I don’t want to have to swim.”
“Yes, it is getting deep,” said Scarlett, thoughtfully.
“Couldn’t get a boat down here, could we!”
“No; but we might get one of the big tubs,” replied Scarlett. “It would hold us both. Shall we go back now?”
“Yes; we’re so horribly wet; but hold the lanthorn up higher, and— Oh, I say!”
Scarlett had obeyed, and raised it so high that the lanthorn struck slightly against the rough roof, and, as the candle happened to be already burning away in the socket, this was sufficient to extinguish it, and for the moment they were in total darkness, or so it seemed to them in the sudden change.
Then Fred cried exultantly, “Look! look!” and pointed to a bright, rough-looking star of light.
“Sunshine,” cried Scarlett. “Then that is the entrance. Shall we go on?”
Fred had already squeezed by him, and was wading on toward the light, which proved to be not more than fifty feet away.
“Come along!” he cried; “it isn’t very much deeper, only up to my middle now. Here, I’m touching it. This is the end, and—it’s—it’s—no, I can’t quite make out where it is,” he continued, as he darkened the hole by placing his face to it; “but I can see the lake, and I could see where, only there’s a whole lot of ivy hanging down.”
“Can you get your head through?”
“No; too small. Come and look.”
Fred made way for his companion, and, while he was peering through, the other amused himself by feeling the flat surface which stopped farther progress, and soon made out that there was a wall of rugged stone, built up evidently to stop the entrance; and this was matted together with ivy strands and roots which had forced their way in.
“Yes,” said Scarlett, at last, as he drew away; “this is the entrance, and now we’ve got to find it from outside.”
“Yes; but how?”
“Oh, we shall soon find it. Get the boat, and hunt all along till we find a place that has been built like a wall, and then search for this hole.”
“And how about the ivy all over it?”
Scarlett was silent for a while.
“I had forgotten all about the ivy,” he said.
“If we could tell about where it was, I dare say we could soon find it.”
“Yes, but we can’t tell yet.”
“And we shan’t find out by stopping here, Scar; and oh, I say—”
“What’s the matter?”
“The water’s right up in my pockets. Come along back.”
“But we’ve got to go in the dark.”
“Can’t help it. I don’t mind so much now, for we can’t go wrong. Come along.”
Fred took the lead now, and they went steadily back, feeling their way along by the damp wall, and casting back from time to time regretful looks at the bright star of light, which grew less and less, and then disappeared; but as it passed from sight, they saw to their great delight that there was a faint dawn, as it were, on ahead, and this grew brighter and brighter, till they seemed to turn a corner, and saw the bright rays shooting down through the hole, which they reached with a rather confused but correct notion that about here the passage took a double curve, somewhat in the shape of the letter S; but they were too eager to get out into the wood again to give much attention to the configuration of the place.
“Hah!” exclaimed Fred, taking a long breath, and then beginning to squeeze the water out of his nether garment, “that’s better. I say, hadn’t we better hide this hole?”
“I don’t think we need; nobody ever comes here. Let’s go and have a look down by the lake.”
Chapter Nine.Something the Matter.The two lads were so accustomed to rough country life and to making wading expeditions for trout in the little rivers, or rushing in after the waves down by the seashore, that, after giving their garments a thorough good wring, they soon forgot all about the dampness in the interest of searching for the entrance to the secret passage down by the lake.“I know how it must all have been,” said Scarlett. “When our house was built, there must have been wars. I dare say it was in the War of the Roses, and that place was contrived, so that in case of need any one could escape.”“Yes; and if the place was taken, the rightful owners could get in again.”“And now it’s all peace,” said Scarlett, thoughtfully, “and we can make it our cave, and do what we like there.”“But it isn’t all peace,” said Fred. “I heard father say that if the king went on much longer as he’s going on now, there might be war.”“Who with—France?”“No; a civil war.”“What Englishmen against Englishmen! They couldn’t.”“But they did in the Wars of the Roses.”“Ah, that was when people knew no better, and there were different kings wanted to reign! Such things never could occur again.”“I hope not.”“There! this is where the entrance must be.”The two lads had reached the edge of the lake now, and began once more to search along the most likely spots where the rocky banks were perpendicular and high, and covered with ivy and overhanging trees.But it was labour in vain, and at last, as the afternoon grew late, they sat down on a piece of slaty rock in the hot sunshine, swinging their legs over the side, gazing out at the bright waters of the lake.“I don’t care,” cried Fred, pettishly; “I’m tired of it. I don’t mind now whether there’s a way in or a way out. It’s of no use, and I’m hungry. I shall go home now.”“No; stop and have supper with us.”“Very well. I don’t mind; only let’s go.”The two boys went straight up to the Hall, passing Nat on the way, ready to exchange a salute and a grin.“What are you laughing at, Nat?” cried Fred.“Only at you two, sir. You’ve been up to some mischief, I know.”The boys exchanged hasty glances, which, being interpreted, meant, “Has he been watching us?”“I always knows,” said Nat, with a chuckle.“No, you don’t,” cried Fred. “You’re just like our Samson.”“So would you be, Master Fred, if you was a twin.”“I did not mean that. I meant being so precious cunning and sure about everything when you don’t know anything at all.”“Ah, don’t I, sir! Ha, ha, ha! I could tell Sir Godfrey a deal more than you think for.”“Yes, you’d better,” cried Fred. “You do, that’s all, and I’ll go home and lead Samson such a life.”“Wish you would, sir, for he deserves it. A nasty, stuck-up, obstint fellow as never was. I never meet him without he wants to quarrel with me and fight. Thinks he’s the strongest man there is, and that he can do anything. And talk about a temper!”“Shan’t,” cried Fred. “What do we want to talk about tempers for? Our Samson has got as good a temper as you have.”“Nay, nay, Master Fred; now that aren’t a bit true. And I beg your pardon, sir: our Sampson’s father was my father.”“Oh yes! and his mother was your mother. That’s what you always say.”“Which it’s a truth, Master Fred,” said the gardener, reprovingly; “and Master Penrose say as a truth can’t be told too often.”“Then I don’t think the same as Master Penrose. Do you, Scar?”“No, of course not. Well, Nat, what were you going to say?”“Only, sir, that Sampson’s my brother; but I’m mortal sorry as he’s the gardener for any friends of yours, for a worse man there never was in a garden, and I never see it without feeling reg’lar ashamed of the Manor.”“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Fred. “Why, that’s just what our Samson says about your garden.”“What, sir? Our Samson said that about the Hall garden?”“Yes, lots of times.”Nat had a hoe in his hand, and he let the shaft fall into the hollow of his arm as he moistened his hands, took a fresh hold of the ash pole as if it was a quarter-staff, and made half a dozen sharp blows at nothing before letting the tool resume its place on the earth.“That’s what’s going to happen to Samson Dee next time we meets, Master Fred; so p’raps you’ll be good enough to tell him what he has got to expeck.”“Tell him yourself, Nat,” said Scarlett, shortly. “Come along, Fred.”The gardener stood looking after them till they disappeared through the great door of the Hall, and then went on hoeing up weeds very gently, as if he did not like to injure their tender fibres.“Master Samson won’t be happy till I’ve given him stick enough to make his bones sore. Hah! we shall have to get it over somehow. Samson won’t be content till we’ve had it out.”The supper of those days was ready when the boys entered the great dining-room, Fred having declared himself ravenous while upstairs in Scarlett’s bedroom, where, the lads being much of a size, he had been accommodated with a complete change, even to dry shoes.Sir Godfrey and Lady Markham were waiting, the former looking very serious, and his countenance becoming more grave as he saw Fred enter.“You bad boys,” whispered Scarlett’s sister, as she ran up to them, with her dark hair tossed about her shoulders. “Father was beginning to scold.”“How do, Lady Markham?” said Fred, and her ladyship looked troubled as she took the boy’s hand. “How do, sir? It was so late, and I am so hungry, that I thought you would not mind my stopping to supper with Scar.”“Ahem! No, my boy,” said Sir Godfrey, trying to be cordial, but speaking coldly. “Sit down. Been out with Scarlett?”“Yes, sir. All the afternoon in the woods,” replied Fred, looking at the baronet wonderingly, for he had never heard him speak in such a tone before.Ever since he could remember he had been in and out of the Hall at meal-times, even sleeping there often, and Scarlett’s visits to the Manor had been of the same character. To all intents and purposes the life of the boys had been that of brothers, while that of their fathers had been much the same.It was a genuine old-fashioned Coombeshire repast to which the hungry boys sat down, eating away as boys of fifteen or sixteen can eat, and bread and butter, ham, cake, junket and cream, disappeared at a marvellous rate.“Is your father poorly?” whispered Fred, after satisfying his hunger to some extent. “I don’t know. Don’t speak so loud.”“Wasn’t speaking so loud,” said Fred, kicking Scarlett under the table. “What’s the matter with him?”“I don’t know. Heard some bad news, perhaps.”“Shall we tell him about the secret way? He’d like to hear, I dare say.”“No, no; let’s keep it to ourselves for the present.”That something was troubling Sir Godfrey was evident, for his supper was hardly tasted, and twice over, when Lady Markham spoke to him, and pressed him to eat, he declined in an irritable way.“I shall have to join them, if these things go on, Margaret.”“Godfrey!”“Yes; I feel it is a duty to one’s self and country. If we country gentlemen are not staunch now, and do not rally round his majesty, what are we to come to?”Lady Markham shook her head, and softly applied her handkerchief to her eyes, ending by rising and going to where Sir Godfrey sat and, laying her hand upon his shoulder, she bent down and whispered a few words to him, which seemed to have a calming effect, for he took her hand from where it lay, raised it to his lips, and looked up in his wife’s eyes for a few moments before she returned to her place.All this seemed very strange to the lads, who, feeling uncomfortable, began chatting to Lil, but a complete damp was thrown over what was generally a pleasant, sociable meal, and it was with quite a sense of relief that Fred rose at a hint from Scarlett, and they went out into the hall to walk up and down,—talking for a few minutes before Scarlett ran up the stairs and down once or twice to make sure that all was right by the topmost balusters.“Glad I did not make up my mind to tell father,” he said, as he stood once more by the open door.“What’s the matter?”“I don’t know. Father has had letters, I suppose, that have upset him.”“But he said something about the king—and rallying round him.”“Yes.”“Well, never mind that. Shall we get the boat out to-morrow morning, and have a hunt along the side of the lake? We must find that archway.”“Yes, of course.”“What time shall I come—directly after breakfast?”“Yes, and I’ll have the boat baled out. She’s half full of water. Job for Nat.”“Then I’ll run home now. Good night.—Good night.”The second good night came from half-way to the west end of the lake, as Fred ran on down to the narrow track which skirted the water-side.“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.
The two lads were so accustomed to rough country life and to making wading expeditions for trout in the little rivers, or rushing in after the waves down by the seashore, that, after giving their garments a thorough good wring, they soon forgot all about the dampness in the interest of searching for the entrance to the secret passage down by the lake.
“I know how it must all have been,” said Scarlett. “When our house was built, there must have been wars. I dare say it was in the War of the Roses, and that place was contrived, so that in case of need any one could escape.”
“Yes; and if the place was taken, the rightful owners could get in again.”
“And now it’s all peace,” said Scarlett, thoughtfully, “and we can make it our cave, and do what we like there.”
“But it isn’t all peace,” said Fred. “I heard father say that if the king went on much longer as he’s going on now, there might be war.”
“Who with—France?”
“No; a civil war.”
“What Englishmen against Englishmen! They couldn’t.”
“But they did in the Wars of the Roses.”
“Ah, that was when people knew no better, and there were different kings wanted to reign! Such things never could occur again.”
“I hope not.”
“There! this is where the entrance must be.”
The two lads had reached the edge of the lake now, and began once more to search along the most likely spots where the rocky banks were perpendicular and high, and covered with ivy and overhanging trees.
But it was labour in vain, and at last, as the afternoon grew late, they sat down on a piece of slaty rock in the hot sunshine, swinging their legs over the side, gazing out at the bright waters of the lake.
“I don’t care,” cried Fred, pettishly; “I’m tired of it. I don’t mind now whether there’s a way in or a way out. It’s of no use, and I’m hungry. I shall go home now.”
“No; stop and have supper with us.”
“Very well. I don’t mind; only let’s go.”
The two boys went straight up to the Hall, passing Nat on the way, ready to exchange a salute and a grin.
“What are you laughing at, Nat?” cried Fred.
“Only at you two, sir. You’ve been up to some mischief, I know.”
The boys exchanged hasty glances, which, being interpreted, meant, “Has he been watching us?”
“I always knows,” said Nat, with a chuckle.
“No, you don’t,” cried Fred. “You’re just like our Samson.”
“So would you be, Master Fred, if you was a twin.”
“I did not mean that. I meant being so precious cunning and sure about everything when you don’t know anything at all.”
“Ah, don’t I, sir! Ha, ha, ha! I could tell Sir Godfrey a deal more than you think for.”
“Yes, you’d better,” cried Fred. “You do, that’s all, and I’ll go home and lead Samson such a life.”
“Wish you would, sir, for he deserves it. A nasty, stuck-up, obstint fellow as never was. I never meet him without he wants to quarrel with me and fight. Thinks he’s the strongest man there is, and that he can do anything. And talk about a temper!”
“Shan’t,” cried Fred. “What do we want to talk about tempers for? Our Samson has got as good a temper as you have.”
“Nay, nay, Master Fred; now that aren’t a bit true. And I beg your pardon, sir: our Sampson’s father was my father.”
“Oh yes! and his mother was your mother. That’s what you always say.”
“Which it’s a truth, Master Fred,” said the gardener, reprovingly; “and Master Penrose say as a truth can’t be told too often.”
“Then I don’t think the same as Master Penrose. Do you, Scar?”
“No, of course not. Well, Nat, what were you going to say?”
“Only, sir, that Sampson’s my brother; but I’m mortal sorry as he’s the gardener for any friends of yours, for a worse man there never was in a garden, and I never see it without feeling reg’lar ashamed of the Manor.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Fred. “Why, that’s just what our Samson says about your garden.”
“What, sir? Our Samson said that about the Hall garden?”
“Yes, lots of times.”
Nat had a hoe in his hand, and he let the shaft fall into the hollow of his arm as he moistened his hands, took a fresh hold of the ash pole as if it was a quarter-staff, and made half a dozen sharp blows at nothing before letting the tool resume its place on the earth.
“That’s what’s going to happen to Samson Dee next time we meets, Master Fred; so p’raps you’ll be good enough to tell him what he has got to expeck.”
“Tell him yourself, Nat,” said Scarlett, shortly. “Come along, Fred.”
The gardener stood looking after them till they disappeared through the great door of the Hall, and then went on hoeing up weeds very gently, as if he did not like to injure their tender fibres.
“Master Samson won’t be happy till I’ve given him stick enough to make his bones sore. Hah! we shall have to get it over somehow. Samson won’t be content till we’ve had it out.”
The supper of those days was ready when the boys entered the great dining-room, Fred having declared himself ravenous while upstairs in Scarlett’s bedroom, where, the lads being much of a size, he had been accommodated with a complete change, even to dry shoes.
Sir Godfrey and Lady Markham were waiting, the former looking very serious, and his countenance becoming more grave as he saw Fred enter.
“You bad boys,” whispered Scarlett’s sister, as she ran up to them, with her dark hair tossed about her shoulders. “Father was beginning to scold.”
“How do, Lady Markham?” said Fred, and her ladyship looked troubled as she took the boy’s hand. “How do, sir? It was so late, and I am so hungry, that I thought you would not mind my stopping to supper with Scar.”
“Ahem! No, my boy,” said Sir Godfrey, trying to be cordial, but speaking coldly. “Sit down. Been out with Scarlett?”
“Yes, sir. All the afternoon in the woods,” replied Fred, looking at the baronet wonderingly, for he had never heard him speak in such a tone before.
Ever since he could remember he had been in and out of the Hall at meal-times, even sleeping there often, and Scarlett’s visits to the Manor had been of the same character. To all intents and purposes the life of the boys had been that of brothers, while that of their fathers had been much the same.
It was a genuine old-fashioned Coombeshire repast to which the hungry boys sat down, eating away as boys of fifteen or sixteen can eat, and bread and butter, ham, cake, junket and cream, disappeared at a marvellous rate.
“Is your father poorly?” whispered Fred, after satisfying his hunger to some extent. “I don’t know. Don’t speak so loud.”
“Wasn’t speaking so loud,” said Fred, kicking Scarlett under the table. “What’s the matter with him?”
“I don’t know. Heard some bad news, perhaps.”
“Shall we tell him about the secret way? He’d like to hear, I dare say.”
“No, no; let’s keep it to ourselves for the present.”
That something was troubling Sir Godfrey was evident, for his supper was hardly tasted, and twice over, when Lady Markham spoke to him, and pressed him to eat, he declined in an irritable way.
“I shall have to join them, if these things go on, Margaret.”
“Godfrey!”
“Yes; I feel it is a duty to one’s self and country. If we country gentlemen are not staunch now, and do not rally round his majesty, what are we to come to?”
Lady Markham shook her head, and softly applied her handkerchief to her eyes, ending by rising and going to where Sir Godfrey sat and, laying her hand upon his shoulder, she bent down and whispered a few words to him, which seemed to have a calming effect, for he took her hand from where it lay, raised it to his lips, and looked up in his wife’s eyes for a few moments before she returned to her place.
All this seemed very strange to the lads, who, feeling uncomfortable, began chatting to Lil, but a complete damp was thrown over what was generally a pleasant, sociable meal, and it was with quite a sense of relief that Fred rose at a hint from Scarlett, and they went out into the hall to walk up and down,—talking for a few minutes before Scarlett ran up the stairs and down once or twice to make sure that all was right by the topmost balusters.
“Glad I did not make up my mind to tell father,” he said, as he stood once more by the open door.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. Father has had letters, I suppose, that have upset him.”
“But he said something about the king—and rallying round him.”
“Yes.”
“Well, never mind that. Shall we get the boat out to-morrow morning, and have a hunt along the side of the lake? We must find that archway.”
“Yes, of course.”
“What time shall I come—directly after breakfast?”
“Yes, and I’ll have the boat baled out. She’s half full of water. Job for Nat.”
“Then I’ll run home now. Good night.—Good night.”
The second good night came from half-way to the west end of the lake, as Fred ran on down to the narrow track which skirted the water-side.
“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.