“Can it be that Dunbar has burnt the old man’s dwelling?”
“Hardly!”
“He is not too good for it, or for any thing monstrous. He has burnt others—old Rumph’s—Ferguson’s, and many more.”
“Yes! but he prefers to own, and not destroy old Sabb’s. As long as he has a hope of getting Frederica, he will scarcely commit such an outrage.”
“But if she has refused him—if she answers him, as she feels, scornfully—”
“Even then he will prefer to punish in a different way. He will rather choose to take the place by confiscation than burn it. He has never put that fire, or it is not at Sabb’s, but this side of, or beyond it.”
“It may be the act of some drunken trooper. At all events, it requires that we should be on the look-out. I will scout it for a while and see what the mischief is. Do you, meanwhile, keep every thing ready for a start.”
“That fire will never reach us.”
“Not with this wind, perhaps; but the enemy may. He evidently beat the woods after my heels this evening, and may be here to-morrow, on my track. We must be prepared. Keep the horses saddled and bitted, and your ears open for any summons. Ha! by heavens, that is Brough’s signal now.”
“Is it Brough’s? If so, it is scarcely from Brough in a healthy state. The old fellow must have caught cold going to and fro at all hours in the service of Cupid.”