“Yes, my boy; sad, sad indeed,” said Colonel Forrester. “I would have given anything to have prevented it.”
Father and son were walking round the ruins of the Hall, which were still too heated to allow of approach, while from the heap of débris within a thin filmy smoke arose.
“Do you think there is any hope, father?” said Fred, after a long pause.
Colonel Forrester looked at him quickly.
“I mean of Sir Godfrey and poor Scar being alive?”
Colonel Forrester did not reply, but turned away with his brow full of deep furrows; and feeling as if everything like happiness was at an end, Fred turned away from the scene of desolation, and walked up toward the little camp on the hill, wondering how it would be possible to convey the terrible tidings to the two who must be suffering a very martyrdom of anxiety at the Manor.
“I could not do it. I dare not,” muttered Fred. “And besides, it is too soon. There may be hope.”
But as he said those last words to himself, he pictured the wounded father defended by his son, and then the rushing flames, and he groaned in spirit as he felt how hopeless it all seemed.
“Heard all the news, Master Fred, I s’pose?”
Fred started, for he had not heard the approach of Samson.