Nat is very much in the Way.
Fred lay for some few moments thinking over his vivid dream and unable for a time to realise that he had been fast asleep. That was the morning sunshine sure enough, and this was his room; but his head felt in a whirl, and as if it was mixed up with some puzzle.
But that was not the coinage of his brain that distant pit-pat of a horse’s hoofs upon the hard road; and springing out of bed, he ran to the window, threw it open, and looked out, straining his neck to get a glimpse of the distant way.
For a few moments he could see nothing. Then there came into sight, rising out of a hollow, the head and broad shoulders of a horseman. As he progressed, more and more of his figure appealed as he ascended a slope, till at last the horse was in full view, but directly afterwards they seemed to top the ascent and begin to go down on the other side, with the sun flashing from stirrup and buckle, and from the hilt of the rider’s sword. There were other bright flashes too all around, but they were from the dewdrops which spangled grass and leaf, as the rider seemed to grow shorter, his horse disappearing, till only his head and shoulders appeared above the ridge, and then they passed away, and the pit-pat of the horse’s hoofs died out.
“Gone!” said Fred, thoughtfully. “No! there he is again;” and he strained his eyes to gaze at the tiny distant form of the military-looking man who had made so strong an impression upon him, but he did not become visible; it was only the sound of his horse’s hoofs which were heard for the space of a minute, faint but clear, on the morning air. Then all was silent.
“I half like that Captain Miles,” said Fred to himself. “Wish I was going with him. Wonder where he has gone? To Plymouth, perhaps.”
Fred began to dress, after hesitating whether he should go to bed again. But the bright morning was so attractive, and after the first application of cold water, he felt a positive eagerness to get out in the fresh air.
All the time he was dressing his head was full of his confused dream and the fight in the narrow passage, while the events of the preceding day had so impressed him that he hurried downstairs, glanced at the hall clock, which pointed to a quarter to five, and, taking his hat, ran out, and down the garden.
“Morning, Master Fred,” came from behind the hedge; and it was so sudden that the lad jumped.
“You, Samson?” he cried. “Yes; I’ve been starting that gen’leman who come yesterday. Had to get up at four and have his horse ready. Going fishing?”