Samson waited for Fred to speak again; but as he remained silent, the ex-gardener went on—
“I’ve been expecting to hear some news of my beautiful brother, but I haven’t heered a word, only that he’s about somewhere. Oh, I am proud of him, Master Fred! I shouldn’t wonder if we was to be sent off somewhere—Exeter or Bristol, maybe, and Master Scarlett and my brother had charge of us. Be rum, wouldn’t it?”
Fred sighed as he recalled the past.
“Couldn’t cut our hair short, sir, could they?”
Fred remained silent, and his follower went on.
“Nat said first chance he had, he’d crop my ears. That’s like him all over. But he dursn’t, sir. Not he. I should just like to catch him at it. Pst! some one coming.”
Fred had already heard steps below, and then the creaking of a rickety ladder, as if some one were ascending.
Directly after a door on his left was thrown open, a flood of sunshine burst into the cobweb-hung loft, and an officer and a private of cavalry came rustling through the straw till they were within the scope of the wounded lad’s gaze, and a chill of misery ran through him like a shudder as he saw Scarlett Markham, followed by Samson’s brother Nat.