“No, no, father; they are in safety down at the Manor.”
“Here, I tell you, sir. Help me to find them. Quick! They are in the burning house and Scar, my boy, is that you?”
Then, seeming to drop off to sleep as his son knelt by him, there was a sigh or two, and then he was breathing regularly, although the inspirations sounded faint and low.
Scarlett could contain himself no longer, but, rising from his knees, he hurried down the few steps and along the lower passage, pausing for a moment before stealing carefully beneath the broken portion of the arched tunnel. For there could be no doubt about the matter: there was a rustling sound somewhere above that did not seem such as would be made by any wild animals likely to haunt the forest, and a certainty was given to his ideas by a low-muttering arising, followed by a hasty ejaculation as of impatience or pain.
So near did this sound, that Scarlett remained motionless in the obscurity of the tunnel arch, afraid to stir for quite an hour, during which he listened, feeling assured that this opening had been discovered by the enemy, and that they had placed a sentry there to trap any one who attempted to escape.
“Oh!” ejaculated Scarlett at last, softly, as what he believed to be enlightenment flashed across his brain. “Why did I not think of that before? Fred Forrester, of course! He remembered our discovery, and he has explained all to his father, with the result that there are sentinels all about, waiting to take every poor wounded wretch who seeks to escape.”
It was a painful thought, for it troubled him to think that Fred had been so unprincipled as to betray their old boyish secret.
“He might have been content to fight with his party against ours, and not make use of his knowledge to do his old friends an evil turn.”
The feeling of bitter anger mingled with scorn increased as he stood there in weary inactivity, longing to rejoin Sir Godfrey, but dreading to stir, for fear he should bring danger upon his father’s head.
And all this time he might be awake, and in grievous suffering; perhaps dying, and feebly stretching out his hands for help, even believing that his son had left him there to die.