It was not pleasant riding now, for the ground was very steep, and the trees very thick and low; and when after long scrambling down they came to a stream at the bottom of the hill, the children found no better path than a very rough track by the water, full of great boulders, over which the ponies stumbled continually. Presently they crossed the water, and then for the first time the children perceived that the woman was no longer with them, though where she had left them they could not tell. Still the idiot guided them on through the woods, uphill and down and across more than one stream, till at last he led them into a grass path, where after walking for some time he suddenly stopped and listened. Then pointing down it, he grinned and touched up Stonecrop to make him trot, and after running for some time alongside them, dropped behind. Dick began to think that the path was familiar to him, and the ponies began to pull, as though they knew it also. In another five minutes they came down into the road by which they had driven up on the previous morning, and there stood the Corporal and another servant, both of them mounted, not a hundred yards away.
Dick shouted joyfully, and the Corporal galloping hastily up, dismounted and ran to them. He was white, haggard and unshorn, and for a time only patted their ponies apparently unable to speak. Then he looked up the valley at the hills, and seeing that they were clear of mist told the other servant to get up to the top of the hill and make the signal, and to look sharp about it; upon which the servant turned his horse up the path and galloped away like one possessed. Then the Corporal turned to the children and asked them who had brought them back; and when they told him they noticed for the first time that the idiot was not with them. They called and shouted for him several times, but he never came; and then they rode back with the Corporal, telling their adventures as they went.
But far behind them on one of the highest points of the moor stood Colonel George and their mother. She was now deadly white, with great black rings round her eyes, for she was worn out with watching and anxiety; but she would not give in. She had dismounted and was sitting on the heather, while Colonel George with his field-glass laid across his horse's saddle conned the moor anxiously in every direction. The mist was only just gone, and he seemed to have much to look at, for a long line of horsemen was sweeping before him over the moor, searching for the children. At last he set down the glass and rubbed his eyes, for he had been in the saddle for nearly twenty-four hours, and taking a flask from his pocket poured out a little for Lady Eleanor. She shook her head as he brought it, but he only said "You must;" and then she drank a mouthful or two. He was just about to drink himself when he hastily slipped the flask into his pocket, and taking out the field-glass looked long and earnestly through it. Then he tied a large white handkerchief to his whip, waved it three times over his head and looked again through the glass, after which he kept on waving for some time. Then after a last look he put away the glass, and walked slowly, leading both horses, to the place where he had left Lady Eleanor. She was lying back with her face covered with her hands.
"Come," he said gently. "The Corporal has found them and they are safe and well. I made them repeat the signal twice, so that I am quite sure, and I have signalled to the search-parties to go home. Let me put you on your horse."
See looked up like one dazed; but there was Colonel George holding out his hand to her, so she took it and rose to her feet; and then she seized the hand between both of hers and wrung it hard without a word. He lifted her into the saddle, and no sooner was he mounted than she started to gallop down the hill at a pace which made it hard for Colonel George to keep up with her. Away she flew, and he felt thankful that she was a fine horsewoman and mounted on his horse instead of her own, which was not nearly so clever over rough ground; though he could not help reflecting that he could never have found it in his conscience to hustle a horse of hers as she hustled his. There were two or three valleys to cross, which gave the animals a little respite, but not much, for Lady Eleanor went equally fast, uphill, downhill and on the level. So that when they arrived at the Hall Colonel George, after seeing Lady Eleanor run in to the children, only looked at his horse's heaving flanks, shook his head, and led him off to the stable to look after him himself. There he heard the whole story from the Corporal, and leaving a message for Lady Eleanor that he would call next day, rode back very quietly to Fitzdenys Court.
CHAPTER X
It need hardly be said that when her first joy over the recovery of the children was over, Lady Eleanor's instant thought was for the strange woman and her idiot son, who had befriended them and saved them for her. She longed to thank and to reward them, but she could not think how to find them; and moreover it was plain that, for some reason which she could not divine, the woman wished to keep out of her way. It was difficult for her to believe that there could be any harm in the woman, after the care that she had taken of the children; but on the other hand there was Tommy Fry, still speechless. She was thankful when Colonel George came over next day, that she might discuss matters with him.
But he was as much at a loss as she was. He had examined all the people who had gone out to search for the children, but not one of them had seen a sign of any dwelling where the strange woman could live. He was, however, struck by Dick's account of the little coat that he had worn; for it seemed, he said, to be a drummer's coat, and he could not imagine how such people should possess such a garment. As he spoke, the bullfinch broke into the first bars of "The British Grenadiers;" and then the same thought occurred to Colonel George as had seized upon the minds of the villagers—Was it possible that the idiot was a deserter, or that he and his mother were harbouring a deserter? But he kept his thoughts to himself, for he knew the terrible punishment to which a deserter would be liable, and did not wish Lady Eleanor to think of such a thing.
But however the gentry might doubt at the Hall, the folks in the village found no difficulty in accounting for everything. It was the witch who had enticed the children on to the moor and made them lose themselves; and, though she had sent them back safe and sound, it was impossible to say what trouble she might have in store for them. One soft-hearted woman did indeed suggest that no witch could have power to hurt such dear innocent angels; but Mrs. Fry promptly rose up in arms against her, for was not her Tommy also a dear innocent angel, though to be sure he was but a poor boy, whereas her Ladyship's children were rich? Then Mrs. Mugford came forward with her explanation, which was, that the Corporal, as had already been suspected, was undoubtedly in league with the witch, and had led the children into her clutches. It might be that the witch could not hurt them; but certain it was that, when all the country was out searching for them, she had led them straight back to the Corporal. As to the Corporal being thrown from his horse, Mrs. Mugford had heard such stories before; and it was strange that he had found his way home safe enough though he had left the children to be eaten alive, for aught he knew. It was strange, too, that he was waiting in the right place for the children next day when the witch brought them down, and that the witch had vanished, as Mrs. Mugford averred, in a cloud of brimstone smoke.