“Hah! I’m glad that’s over, Master Scar,” said Nat, with a sigh of relief as they went gently along the lane which opened upon the high-road lying to west and east, and there crossed it and led on towards the Manor.
They were within twenty yards of the cross-roads, when Nat looked cautiously back, to see if his master was within hearing, and seeing that he was not, he chuckled and said softly—
“Master Scar, sir.”
“Yes,” said Scarlett, starting from a reverie full of recollections about the times he and Fred had traversed that road on very different missions to the present.
“I was just thinking, sir, that I’d give every penny I’ve saved up again I get married, which may happen some day, to see our Samson come shuffling up yonder lane. How he would stare, and how mad he would be, and—”
“Hush, Nat. Look!”
The ex-gardener sat up, round-eyed and as if turned into stone, while the clatter of horse’s hoofs behind told that Sir Godfrey had set spurs to his horse, and was riding on to join them, which he did, drawing rein as they reached the cross-roads, an act duly imitated by the group of three horsemen coming up the lane from the opposite direction, and there at the intersection of the great main western road, the two little parties sat gazing at each other, accident having arranged that master, son, and servant from Hall and Manor should be exactly opposite to each other, gazing in each other’s eyes.
For full a minute no one spoke, and then Thunder, Sir Godfrey’s charger, threw up his noble head and whinnied loudly what might have been taken as a defiance.
“Now, Master Scar,” whispered Nat, “isn’t the master going to give the word. It’s war now, and we can soon do them.”
“Silence!” cried Sir Godfrey, sternly; and then, turning to Colonel Forrester, he raised his plumed Cavalier hat, the colonel responding by lifting the steel morion he wore.