"So it would seem. I can see no other--though I did think Michael might be somewhere near me, in the woods, here; I at first mistook your footsteps for his."
"That is a mistake"--returned Willoughby, levelling a small pocket spy- gla.s.s at the Hut--"Mike is tugging at that gate, upholding a part of it, like a corner-stone. I see most of the faces I know there, and my dear father is as active, and yet as cool, as if at the head of a regiment."
"Then I am alone--it is perhaps better that as many as possible should be in the house to defend it."
"Not alone, my sweet Maud, so long as I am with you. Do you still think my visit so ill-timed?"
"Perhaps not, after all. Heaven knows what I should have done, by myself, when it became dark!"
"But are we safe on this seat?--May we not be seen by the Indians, since we so plainly see them?"
"I think not. I have often remarked that when Evert and Beulah have been here, their figures could not be perceived from the lawn; owing, I fancy, to the dark back-ground of rock. My dress is not light, and you are in green; which is the colour of the leaves, and not easily to be distinguished. No other spot gives so good a view of what takes place in the valley. We must risk a little exposure, or act in the dark."
"You are a soldier"s daughter, Maud"--This was as true of major Meredith as of captain Willoughby, and might therefore be freely said by even Bob--"You are a soldier"s daughter, and nature has clearly intended you to be a soldier"s wife. This is a _coup-d"-oeil_ not to be despised."
"I shall never be a wife at all"--murmured Maud, scarce knowing what she said; "I may not live to be a soldier"s daughter, even, much longer. But, why are _you_ here?--surely, surely _you_ can have no connection with those savages!--I have heard of such horrors; but _you_ would not accompany _them_, even though it were to _protect_ the Hut."
"I"ll not answer for that, Maud. One would do a great deal to preserve his paternal dwelling from pillage, and his father"s grey hairs from violence. But I came alone; that party and its objects being utterly strangers to me."
"And _why_ do you come at all, Bob?" inquired the anxious girl, looking up into his face with open affection--"The situation of the country is now such, as to make your visits very hazardous."
"Who could know the regular major in this hunting-shirt, and forest garb? I have not an article about my person to betray me, even were I before a court. No fear for me then, Maud; unless it be from these demons in human shape, the savages. Even they do not seem to be very fiercely inclined, as they appear at this moment more disposed to eat, than to attack the Hut. Look for yourself; those fellows are certainly preparing to take their food; the group that is just now coming over the cliffs, is dragging a deer after it."
Maud took the gla.s.s, though with an unsteady hand, and she looked a moment at the savages. The manner in which the instrument brought these wild beings nearer to her eye, caused her to shudder, and she was soon satisfied.
"That deer was killed this morning by the miller," she said; "they have doubtless found it in or near his cabin. We will be thankful, however, for this breathing-time--it may enable my dear father to get up the other gate. Look, Robert, and see what progress they make?"
"One side is just hung, and much joy does it produce among them!
Persevere, my n.o.ble old father, and you will soon be safe against your enemies. What a calm and steady air he has, amid it all! Ah! Maud, Hugh Willoughby ought, at this moment, to be at the head of a brigade, helping to suppress this accursed and unnatural rebellion. Nay, more; he _may_ be there, if he will only listen to reason and duty."
"And _this_ is then your errand here, Bob?" asked his fair companion, gazing earnestly at the major.
"It is, Maud--and I hope you, whose feelings I know to be right, can encourage me to hope."
"I fear not. It is now too late. Beulah"s marriage with Evert has strengthened his opinions--and then"
"What, dearest Maud? You pause as if that "_then_" had a meaning you hesitated to express."
Maud coloured; after which she smiled faintly, and proceeded: "We should speak reverently of a father--and such a father, too. But does it not seem probable to you, Bob, that the many discussions he has with Mr. Woods may have a tendency to confirm each in his notions?"
Robert Willoughby would have answered in the affirmative, had not a sudden movement at the Hut prevented.
Chapter XII.
From Flodden ridge The Scots beheld the English host Leave Barmore wood, their evening post, And heedful watched them as they crossed The Till by Twisal Bridge.
Scott
It was just at this instant that most of the women of the settlement rushed from the court, and spread themselves within the stockade, Mrs.
Willoughby and Beulah being foremost in the movement. The captain left the gate, too, and even the men, who were just about to raise the last leaf, suspended their toil. It was quite apparent some new cause for uneasiness or alarm had suddenly awoke among them. Still the stack of arms remained untouched, nor was there any new demonstration among the Indians. The major watched everything, with intense attention, through the gla.s.s.
"What is it, dear Bob?" demanded the anxious Maud. "I see my dearest mother--she seems alarmed."
"Was it known to her that you were about to quit the house, when you came out on this walk?"
"I rather think not. She and Beulah were in the nursery with little Evert, and my father was in the fields. I came out without speaking to any person, nor did I meet any before entering the forest."
"Then you are now first missed. Yes, that is it--and no wonder, Maud, it creates alarm. Merciful G.o.d! How must they all feel, at a moment like this!"
"Fire your rifle, Bob--that will draw their eyes in this direction, and I will wave my handkerchief--perhaps _that_ might be seen. Beulah has received such signals from me, before."
"It would never do. No, we must remain concealed, watching their movements, in order to be able to aid them at the proper time. It is painful to endure this suspense, beyond a doubt; but the pain must be borne in order to ensure the safety of one who is so very, very precious to us all."
Notwithstanding the fearful situation in which she was placed, Maud felt soothed by these words. The language of affection, as coming from Robert Willoughby, was very dear to her at all times, and never more than at a moment when it appeared that even her life was suspended, as it might be, by a hair.
"It is as you say," she answered gently, giving him her hand with much of her ancient frankness of manner; "we should be betrayed, and of course lost--but what means the movement at the Hut?"
There was indeed a movement within the stockade. Maud"s absence was now clearly ascertained, and it is needless to describe the commotion the circ.u.mstance produced. No one thought any longer of the half of the gate that still remained to be hung, but every supposable part of the house and enclosure had been examined in quest of her who was missing.
Our heroine"s last remark, however, was produced by certain indications of an intention to make a descent from one of the external windows of the common parlour, a room it will be remembered that stood on the little cliff, above the rivulet that wound beneath its base. This cliff was about forty feet high, and though it offered a formidable obstacle to any attempt to scale it, there was no great difficulty in an active man"s descending, aided by a rope. The spot, too, was completely concealed from the view of the party which still remained on the rock, near the mill, at a distance of quite half a mile from the gates of the stockade. This fact greatly facilitated the little sortie, since, once in the bed of the rivulet, which was fringed with bushes, it would be very practicable, by following its windings, to gain the forest unseen.
The major levelled his gla.s.s at the windows, and immediately saw the truth of all that has here been mentioned.
"They are preparing to send a party out," he said, "and doubtless in quest of you, Maud. The thing is very feasible, provided the savages remain much longer in their present position. It is matter of surprise to me, that the last have not sent a force in the rear of the Hut, where the windows are at least exposed to fire, and the forest is so close as to afford a cover to the a.s.sailants. In front there is literally none, but a few low fences, which is the reason I presume that they keep so much aloof."
"It is not probable they know the valley. With the exception of Nick, but few Indians have ever visited us, and that rarely. Those we have seen have all been of the most peaceable and friendly tribes; not a true warrior, as my father says, ever having been found among them.
Nick is the only one of them all that can thus be termed."
"Is it possible that fellow has led this party? I have never more than half confided in him, and yet he is too old a friend of the family, I should think, to be guilty of such an act of baseness."
"My father thinks him a knave, but I question if he has an opinion of him as bad as that. Besides, _he_ knows the valley, and would have led the Indians round into the rear of the house, if it be a place so much more favourable for the attack, as you suppose. These wretches have come by the common paths, all of which first strike the river, as you know, below the mills."
"That is true. I lost my way, a few miles from this, the path being very blind on the eastern route, which I travelled as having gone it last with Nick, and thinking it the safest. Fortunately I recognised the crest of this mountain above us, by its shape, or I might never have found my way; although the streams, when struck, are certain guides to the woodsman. As soon as I hit the cow-paths, I knew they would lead me to the barns and sheds. See! a man is actually descending from a window!"
"Oh! Bob, I hope it is not my father! He is too old--it is risking too much to let him quit the house."
"I will tell you better when he reaches the ground. Unless mistaken-- ay--it is the Irishman, O"Hearn."
"Honest Mike! He is always _foremost_ in everything, though he so little knows how anything but digging ought to be done. Is there not another following him--or am I deceived?"
"There is--he has just reached the ground, too. This might be spared, did they know how well you are guarded, Maud. By one who would die cheerfully to prevent harm from reaching you!"
"They little dream of that, Bob," answered Maud, in a low tone. "Not a human being in that valley fancies you nearer to him than the royal armies are, at this moment. But they do not send a third--I am glad they weaken their own force no further."
"It is certainly best they should not. The men had their rifles slung when they descended, and they are now getting them ready for service.
It is Joel Strides who is with Mike."