Scarlett started up, shook the water from his hands, snatched up his broad-leafed hat, and took his gloves from his belt.
“Bathe his forehead for a few minutes longer, and then let him sleep. We shall be back before many hours, but the surgeon will be here before then.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And tell your father that General Markham will see that he is paid for all his trouble.”
“Oh, sir,” said the girl, “you need not think of that. We’ll do our best.”
By this time Scarlett was at the door, and Fred had turned his eyes toward him, but he did not look back.
“Come, Nat,” he cried loudly; and his follower stumped over the rough straw; the steps creaked, and voices were heard below. Loud orders followed. Then the trumpet brayed out again, the trampling of horses followed, and the girl set down the bowl, and went to the end of the loft, where she climbed up and looked through the little window, staying there till the trampling of the horses had died away.
“Gone,” she said, as she returned to Fred’s side, and prepared to bathe his brow once more.
“No,” he said gently; “let me sleep now. But haven’t I seen you before?”
“Yes, sir; you came here and brought Captain Markham and the prisoners,” said the girl, turning a deeper red, as she recalled her own action upon that occasion, and gazed suspiciously in his face for signs that he knew of all that she had done.