A trifle that he would not have heeded at another time, but which now sent a thrill of hope through him, for it told of light and liberty, and help for the sufferer lying in that gloomy vault.
But he wasted no time, passing over the crackling refuse of broken wood and stones which here impeded his way, till almost directly after he had cleared all this, and made a turn, catching sight of the bright star-like light low down by the floor of the passage—the opening that he had made, and by which the water which had been gathering probably for generations had been drained away.
He was soon at the rough wall which stopped the arch, and, going down on one knee, he listened, for peril had made him cautious, besides which the lessons of life he was receiving in his regimental work taught the necessity for being prepared for enemies at every turn.
All seemed to be perfectly still, and as far as he could judge it was early morning, soon after daybreak. The first rays of the sun appeared to be brightening the surface of the lake as he tried to peer through the orifice, and every now and then the cry of the water-fowl and the splash of water endorsed his belief in there being no danger near.
Feeling satisfied that there was no danger, he returned to the broken opening and stopped short as he heard a sharp rustling, followed by a sound that was evidently the sharp utterance of some one impatient at his position, or because one expected did not come.
Did whoever it was know of the existence of the hole through which the faint light streamed down, showing the configuration of the rough branches which covered the broken place? It seemed only probable, and, feeling the necessity for the greater caution, Scarlett stepped slowly and carefully among the broken fragments till he had passed the risky spot, and then hurried on as rapidly as he could till he reached the steps, and, mounting them cautiously, he stood once more in the chamber.
Feeling rapidly about, he uttered a cry of joy, for his hand touched his father’s brow; and as it did so, he felt it raised by the burning fingers of the sufferer, who began talking quickly.
“Quick! Which way did they go—Lady Markham—my child Lilian? Why do you not speak? Tell me; they are not in the burning house?”
“Father! don’t you know my voice?” whispered Scarlett.
“Know your voice—know you? Yes, yes, my boy. Scar, lad, help me. They must be somewhere here. I am looking for them. Yes, somewhere in the house.”