“Yes, Master George, that’s what your father’s afraid of. No; I’m wrong there. I was at the wars with him, and I never saw him afraid—not even to-day. Takes a bold man to come out of his fort and go up to the enemy as he did—twelve to one—expecting every moment a crack from a tomahawk. He hasn’t got any fear in him; but he thinks about the fire all the same. Now then, don’t talk, but keep a sharp look-out, or they may steal on to us without our seeing them.”
All this was said in a low whisper as we tried to keep a good look-out from the little trellised dormers; and the minutes stole on and became hours, with the darkness seeming to increase till about midnight. Then all looked darker, when Morgan pressed my arm, and I gave, a violent start.
“’Sleep, sir?”
“I? Asleep? No! Yes; I’m afraid I must have been,” I said, feeling the colour come burning into my face.
“Look yonder,” he whispered.
I looked from the grating and saw that, all at once, as it appeared to me, the tops of the trees were visible out to the east, and it grew plainer and plainer as I watched.
“Moon’s getting very old, Master George,” whispered Morgan, “but yonder she comes up.”
“Then it will soon be light.”
“No; but not so dark.”
“Then the Indians won’t come now?” I said eagerly.