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The New Forest Spy, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 21. The Escape |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. THE ESCAPE. "Well, so far so good," said Bunny softly. "We are not likely to meet anybody in the hevenue, Master Waller, so that's the best going, and we will keep to that." "The soldiers will be all up at the Manor, but suppose anybody else is coming up from the village?" "If they was I should 'ear them, sir, before they 'eard me. We will step out, and when you think it best, Master Waller, you turn back, and make yourself easy. I'll see young squire here safe aboard brother Jem's boat some time to-morrow, so you had better say good-bye pretty sharp so as to be ready to slip off when you like. But what about that there money? Shall I tell brother Jem as I have it ready for him and his mates when he's set young squire here safe across?" "Yes, of course," cried Waller. "Pst!" whispered the man. "In among the trees!" and he caught hold of Godfrey's hand, dragging him through the bracken and bush, while in his excitement Waller took cover on the other side of the winding way. For all at once he was conscious of the flashing of two lights and the dull rattle of wheels coming through the deep sand of the road. Directly after the lights were illumining the big trunks of the fine old trees through which the track ran, and the boy's heart beat all the faster as through the open window of the post-chaise he caught a glimpse of the grey, stern-looking head of him whom he had expected so long. "Father!" he breathed to himself, and he stood gazing after the chaise till it had passed round another curve and the last gleam of the lights had disappeared. "Pst!" he whispered. "Bunny! Did you see that!" There was no reply, not a sound but the faint whirr of the wheels growing fainter moment by moment, and, confident now that he could not be seen, the boy left the shelter of the trees, crossed the road, and entered those on the other side beyond the broad strip of grass. "Bunny!" he whispered again with no result, and then three times over at intervals he hazarded the call of an owl; but in vain. Then, after hurrying for a short distance in the direction he felt that his companions must have taken, he was brought up short in a clump of brambles, and, feeling the madness of attempting to follow farther, he began to think. "I must trust to Bunny getting him safely off, whether I will or not," he muttered. "Oh, but he's sure to get him aboard, and I had not reckoned on this. Father is up at the porch door by now, to find the soldiers searching the place, and the first thing he will say will be, 'Where is Waller?'" The next minute the boy was trotting steadily back towards the Manor, trusting more to instinct than to sight in avoiding the trees. "And I never said good-bye!" he kept on muttering. "I never said good-bye!" Then all at once he stopped short, panting hard, partly from exertion, partly from excitement, for the thought came strong upon him now of his father. "He will ask me," he panted, "where I have been; and what am I to say?" An end to the boy's musings was put by the returning post-chaise, whose wheels he heard far ahead, and as soon as it had passed he hurried on along the road; but before he had gone far he took to cover again, for voices were approaching him in the darkness, one of which, loud and threatening, Waller recognised at once as that of the sergeant in command of the search-party. He was talking in a menacing tone, and the reply came in a husky, petulant voice, plainly that of the village constable, while directly after there was a chorus of laughter. Waller shrank farther back amongst the trees, and stood thinking much of his friend's escape, of this second fruitless mission of the soldiery, but, above all, of that which was before him, for, as he hurried on, there, straight before him, his father's stern countenance seemed to rise out of the darkness to look at him with questioning eyes. The rest of the journey back he saw nothing, heard nothing, thought of nothing, but that stern, questioning face. In fact, later on it seemed to the lad as if there had been a blank until he found himself standing in the well-lit dining-room, listening to his father's words. These were very few, the principal being comprised in the question, very shortly and sharply uttered-- "Well, Waller, my boy, where have you been?" The next minute the tired traveller was sitting back in the big armchair, his brow resting upon one hand, which shaded his face from the young speaker, who slowly, and without a moment's hesitation, spoke out frankly and related all that has been told here. "Well," said the Squire, as his son ended his narrative, "I am a magistrate, my boy, and it would have been my duty if I had been here to give up that lad to those who sought him. I was not here, and you acted upon the promptings of your own breast. Well, my boy, I have had a long and slow journey down; I am very tired, and I was not prepared for such a business as this. It is late, and beyond your time for bed; quite mine, too. And so this young French Englishman whom you have sheltered is on his way with that fellow Wrigg to Loo Creek, where he is to join a lugger, and be set ashore at Cherbourg?" "Yes, father. But you will not send the soldiers in chase of him now?" "Not to-night, my boy," was the reply, "for I am too worn out and weary for anything but bed. I will sleep upon it and see what I think is my duty on the subject to-morrow morning." "Ah," thought Waller Froy, as he went slowly up, candle in hand, to the room from which his prisoner had so lately escaped; and his first act was to pick up the jacket Godfrey Boyne had thrown upon the floor. "Why, I needn't have minded," said Waller to himself. "It's my jacket that I lent him; and I feel so comfortable and easy now that dad knows all. There, I believe I can sleep better to-night than I have for a month." He descended to his bedroom, feeling rather sad, though, as he thought of his late companion's journey through the darkness of the night. Then, as he slowly undressed and laid his head upon the pillow, he had one more wandering thought: "Will father do anything more about that poor fellow Boyne?" The next minute Waller Froy had ceased to think, and thought no more till he opened his eyes upon the light of another bright autumn morning. "Father said he would sleep upon it. What will he say to me when we meet?" And then another question flashed through his brain: "France isn't so very far away; I wonder whether Godfrey Boyne and I will ever meet again?" [THE END] _ |
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