“Sir Godfrey?—Scarlett Markham? Where are they?”
“Escaped,” said a gentleman lying by, with careless levity. “Run for it—broken through your lines, and got clean away.”
“Not they,” said the tall Cavalier, warmly. “Sir Godfrey Markham was not the man to leave his friends in the lurch; and as for my young friend Scarlett, he would have stood by us to the end.”
“But they are not here?” said Fred, anxiously.
“Here, sir? No. They must be with your other prisoners.”
“Other prisoners?” faltered Fred, turning pale, as a horrible thought assailed him, and he darted a frightened glance at the burning Hall; “there are no other prisoners but these.”
“What!” cried the Cavalier, starting to his feet, and then turning faint, so that he would have fallen, but for Fred’s arm. “Thank you, my lad,” he said frankly; “a little weak, I suppose. Yes; I will lie down.”
Fred helped him into a reclining position again upon the turf.
“Tell me all you know about them, sir,” said Fred, going down on one knee to help the wounded officer. “Scarlett and I used to be great friends. Did they escape right away?”
The Cavalier seemed at first to be about to respond in his old careless, bantering, half-mocking way, but as he saw the eagerness of manner, and the anxiety in the lad’s eyes, his manner changed.