“Well, sir, I s’pose it’s true, as you tell me it is,” said Samson, thoughtfully; “but if anybody had told me all this without showing me the place, I should have said, ‘Thank ye; now see if you can tell a bigger story.’”
“You know now it’s true,” said Fred, thoughtfully. “And look here,” he continued, after he had related in full how he and Scarlett discovered the place, “let’s go up to the Hall, and see if there is any sign of the opening there. Think the ruins will be cool?”
“No, sir, nor yet for another week. Why, some of the men was roasting meat in the hot embers, and cooking bread there this morning.”
“Never mind. I had not the heart to go there when I woke. I am eager to see everything now, and I tremble for fear that the way may have been laid open. Come along.”
Samson followed, nothing loth, the rods and basket being forgotten, and they made their way round by the edge of the lake on the side nearest to the Hall, Fred having hard work to keep from gazing back at the patch of the old forest which concealed the passage where he felt certain now his friends—he mentally corrected himself—his enemies, must lie.
A sad feeling came over the lad, though, once more, as he led the way through the hazel wood, where Sir Godfrey had had endless paths cut, every one of which was carpeted with moss; for there were the marks of hoofs, hazel stubs had been wantonly cut down, and the nearer they drew to the ruined Hall, the more frequent were the traces of destruction, while, when at last they came from the shrubbery and stood in full view of the place, the picture of desolation was so painful that Fred stood still, and his eyes felt dim.
“Poor Lady Markham! poor little Lil!” he said in a low voice. “What will they say?”
“Yes, and your mother, Master Fred, sir; she’ll be terribly cut up too.”
“Well, Fred, my lad,” said a grave voice, “have you, too, come to see?”
Fred started round, to find that his father was leaning against one of the fine old beeches with his arms folded, gazing at the still smoking ruins.