“Have I been to sleep?” he muttered, as he drew himself up a little more tightly, and prepared to keep his black watch firmly and well to the end—that is to say, till the time when he would start at dusk for the Manor.
The next instant he was on his way there, creeping cautiously through the undergrowth, listening to the crackling of the wood he pressed with his feet, and finally making his way to the old house, where he was able to embrace his mother and sister, feeling his cheek wet with their tears, while Mistress Forrester made him up a basket of dainties, such as would invite the appetite of a wounded man.
How delightful it all was! only he had to start back so soon, and as he hurried away, his mother called him back. “Scarlett! Scarlett!” How the words rang in his ears, as he looked back through the darkness—
Scarlett leaped to his feet, with a feeling of shame and contrition.
“I must have been asleep,” he exclaimed; and he listened to the breathing once more. “And what a vivid dream that was! How real it seemed!” he added. “I’ll go along to the opening, and look out. That will keep me from going to sleep again.”
He started down the steps, and climbed out, wondering whether he had slept a minute, an hour, or a day, and to his delight he found and took back with him the provision lately placed there by Fred and Samson.
“Well, we shall not starve,” said Scarlett, thankfully, as he began thinking of his dream; but all the same, the voice which had broken in upon him calling his name sounded wonderfully real.