For the moment Fred thought himself in the presence of one of the enemy, and his hand darted to the hilt of his sword; but he realised directly after that it was one of their own men posted there, and he shivered as he wondered whether the sentry had noted the direction of his gaze.
“Only taking a stroll round, my man,” said Fred, as he gave the password.
“Not going into the wood, are you, sir?”
“Yes; right on, towards the Hall.”
“Better take care, sir. There are some clever marksmen there, and I should get into trouble if you were hurt.”
“Don’t be alarmed,” replied Fred, smiling. “I’ll take care.”
He pushed on, and the sentinel remained at his hidden post, while, as if he found a certain pleasure in revisiting the spots familiar to him in the boyish adventures with his old companion, Fred wandered listlessly here and there, meeting sentry after sentry, posted so that the besieged should not have an opportunity of getting away, or sending a messenger in search of help.
“And all the time,” muttered Fred, “I know how easily a messenger could be sent, and help obtained.”
He stopped short at last, with his head in a whirl, wondering which course he ought to pursue, as the thought occurred to him that he should be answerable for the injury to his own party if Scarlett did send for assistance, making use of the passage as a means by which he could avoid the sentries.
“But he would not avoid the sentries, for they would catch the messenger all the same,” he cried; “and I am driving myself half crazy about nothing, and— What’s that?”