“Master Fred—Master Fred, do say ‘Now’, or our chance is gone,” said Samson to himself; and as if this was communicated to the young officer by some peculiar sense, he was drawing in his breath previous to giving the word and dashing at their tracker, when a low, piteous voice said half aloud—
“Gone, or he has forgotten us. What shall—”
“Don’t you talk like that o’ Master Fred, sir,” cried Samson, in indignant tones.
“Scar!” cried Fred; and he threw his arms round his boyhood’s companion, who uttered a low sigh, and would have sunk to the stony floor but for Fred’s support.
“Samson.”
“Well, sir, what did he mean by scaring us and talking like that?”
“Have you been outside?”
“No,” said Scarlett, in a low, hesitating voice. “I was ill and feverish. I went to the end to get some water, and I think I must have fallen down and slept. I have not slept much, and it has been so long and dark, and I thought you had forsaken us.”
“Forsaken you!” cried Fred, reproachfully. “But your father—and Nat?”
“I hardly know; they seem to have done nothing but sleep.”