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The New Forest Spy, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 8. Helping The Fugitive |
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_ CHAPTER EIGHT. HELPING THE FUGITIVE Waller had managed so well that he had only a few yards to go; in fact, if the task had been undertaken by the tall gipsy-like woodland dweller, to whom he had referred as Bunny--a nickname, by the way, bestowed upon him by the boy from his rabbit-like habits, though they were more foxy, as Waller felt, but he liked him too well to brand him with such a name--it could not have been done better. The next minute, with a vivid recollection of the pistol which had been thrust into the fugitive's breast, the boy was creeping forward and listening, till, as he came nearer, he became aware of a deep stertorous breathing, almost a snore, and, closing up, he bent over, to lay one hand on the hidden pistol, so as to be well on his defence, while with the other he gently shook the deep sleeper. Waller expected that the poor fellow would start up in wild affright, but his touch only resulted in a dull, incoherent muttering, and the shake had to be repeated two or three times before the fugitive slowly sat up and gazed at him vacantly, laying one hand upon his burning forehead the while. "Yes," he said slowly, "What is it?" "I have come back," said Waller. "Don't you know me? Why, you are not half awake yet. It will be dark soon, quite dark by the time we get home, and I am going to take you there." The poor fellow passed his hand two or three times across his forehead, as if to clear away some mist that hindered his perceptions. "I say, you have had a splendid sleep," continued Waller. "Feel better now?" "Sleep? Better? I don't know--don't know. Yes, I do. You came and brought me something to eat, and I have been to sleep and dreaming about--Oh!" he groaned, and, leaning forward and covering his face with his hands, he began to rock himself to and fro as if the mental agony from which he suffered was too hard to bear. Waller looked on in silence for a few moments, before reaching forward and laying his hand upon the poor fellow's shoulder, when the touch acted like magic. His hands were caught in those of the fugitive, who rose painfully to his feet and spoke in a low, quick, hurried way. "Yes," he said, "I am ready. Take me where you said; but," he added, glancing sharply round with a wild and fevered look in his eyes, "did the soldiers come, or did I dream it?" "Dreamt it," said Waller emphatically. "Ah!" was sighed. "Am I speaking properly? I--I don't quite know what I say. It's my head, I suppose--my head." "You are not quite awake," said Waller encouragingly. "There, come down to the river and bathe your face. It's getting beautifully cool now; and then we will go gently home through the woods." The poor fellow nodded quickly, obeying his companion to the letter, and seeming to trust himself entirely in his hands. He seemed a little clearer after lying down and bathing his face; but as they walked slowly towards the Manor there were moments when he began to turn dizzy and reeled. But they reached the old Elizabethan house at last, quite in the dusk of evening, and, following out his settled plans, Waller led his companion in through the porch, across the hall, and upstairs, quite unseen, and rather breathless himself, while his companion seemed to have grown calmer. He unlocked the door of his den, threw it open, and closed it upon them with a sigh of relief, as he said,-- "There, sit down in that old chair--gently, for the bottom's broken. This is my own room." Then, as the poor fellow sank back heavily in the very ancient chair, one that Waller had rescued from the lumber-room for his own particular use, he said, "I say: I won't be above a minute. Don't you stir. I am going downstairs to get a light." There was no reply, and, hurriedly descending, Waller fetched candle and stick, to return and find the "something" that he had brought in from the forest fast asleep once more. "Now we shall be all right," he said. "I have got some supper for you. What, asleep again?" he continued, more gently. "Well, you had better lie down. Here, I say, have a nap on the bed. Get up, and I'll help you. You had better undress." The poor fellow grasped a portion of his wishes, and rose mechanically, reeled to the bed, and fell across it with his legs trailing upon the floor; but a few minutes after, with his young host's help, he was properly installed outside, dressed as he was, to sink at once into a deep, feverish sleep. There was no suppering that night for the stranger, who slept on, muttering quickly at intervals, and was still sleeping when Waller stole up to his side again and again at intervals during what seemed to be an interminably long night; for though he pretended to go to bed, the boy could not sleep for more than an hour at a time, and when he did it was only to start up from some troubled dream connected with the incidents of the past day, for he was suffering badly from a new complaint-- fugitive on the brain. _ |
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