They had a rude awaking. With the first streak of dawn in the east, the sudden, loud roll of the drum burst upon the startled air;—the appointed signal of the near approach of their savage foe.
Women and children sprang up with wild shrieks and cries of terror and despair. Kenneth, who had been pacing the hall, a self-appointed sentry, stepped hastily in at the door of the room where the Lamars were, his eyes turning anxiously toward their corner of it.
Mrs. Lamar sat on the side of the couch, trembling with agitation, clasping her babe close to her breast and trying to soothe the older ones, who were clinging about her, with the exception of Bertie whom Nell, deathly pale, but calm and quiet, was sheltering in her arms.
Watching her with tell-tale eyes, Kenneth essayed to speak; but could not make his voice heard amid the weeping and wailing.
"O doctor, save me, save me!" shrieked Mrs. Barbour, rushing toward him with outstretched arms and streaming eyes. "I'll be the first they'll attack; I know I will, and Tom isn't here to take care of me."
"Yes, he is," shouted Mr. Barbour hurrying in, "yes, he is, Nancy; though there's no great occasion, for it's a false alarm, all a mistake. The Indians are as much scared as we are, and are running the other way."
The excitement toned down rapidly while he spoke, and now the room was nearly quiet, all who were old enough to understand being eager to catch every word.
"God be praised," ejaculated Kenneth fervently. "But the signal, why was it given?"
"Ah," said Barbour, smiling, "our old friend had gone back, in feeling at least, to old revolutionary times and could not refrain from sounding the reveille."
"'Twas just good sport for him, no doubt, to frighten a parcel of poor women and children nearly out of their wits!" was Mrs. Barbour's indignant comment.