“Heaven’s will be done,” said Sir Godfrey, softly; and, after a long firm pressure of the hand, he added, “Be careful, my boy; keep your liberty if you can. The king wants the help of every loyal hand.”
“And you will not mind my leaving you?”
“No, my boy. I dare say, in my weak state, I shall pass many hours in sleep.”
Even then Scarlett felt that he could not go, and it was not until long after, when he felt the absolute necessity of obtaining food and help, that he at last tore himself away, but with the one satisfaction of knowing that Sir Godfrey had dropped into a heavy sleep.
It was while he was once more making his way to the opening that Scarlett realised how faint and weak he, too, was. But, summoning all his energy, he stood at last beneath the opening, trying to make out where the sentinel or sentinels might be.
He drew his sword ready for action, and then, with an impatient movement, restored the weapon to its sheath, realising fully that if he was to succeed, it must be by cunning stratagem, not by blows.
All was silent, but the occasional twitter of some bird. If a watcher was there, he gave no sign of his presence, and quite a couple of hours must have passed away before, utterly tired out, and hearing not the slightest sound, Scarlett determined to venture so far as to get his head above the top of the opening.
No; he felt that would be only to court seizure, for his position would be so disadvantageous that he could not defend himself if he were seized. Besides, he would be betraying his father into the enemies’ hands.
In spite of his trouble and anxiety, a smile came upon his lip, as he thought of a plan by which he might make the watcher or watchers discover their presence. He believed thoroughly that he had not so far been heard, and, under that impression, he took hold of one of the hazels above his head, and, trusting to old forest recollections in the days when he had hunted rabbits with Fred Forrester, he shook the bough above him so as to make a sharp rustling noise, and uttered with his compressed lips a sharp screeching sound such as is made by the little white-tailed furry denizen of the wood when trapped or chased by a stoat.
“That will bring him to see,” thought Scarlett, as he felt that such a sound would suggest to a foraging soldier a capital addition to his camp-fire supper.