," said Fred, after a pause. "I
was frightened by my thoughts, Samson."

"Yes; them's what frightens most of us, sir."

"I mean by the thought that I had not done my duty by my charge."

"But you did, sir; and it's the fortune o' war. They was prisoners the
other day; now we're prisoners this day."

"And Master Scarlett Markham, and your brother, and the other men?"

"All here, sir. There's about a thousand of the enemy about, waiting, I
suppose, to drop upon our side, if our side doesn't drop upon them.
Fortune o' wars sir--fortune o' war."

Samson waited for Fred to speak again; but as he remained silent, the
ex-gardener went on--

"I've been expecting to hear some news of my beautiful brother, but I
haven't heered a word, only that he's about somewhere. Oh, I am proud
of him, Master Fred! I shouldn't wonder if we was to be sent off
somewhere--Exeter or Bristol, maybe, and Master Scarlett and my brother
had charge of us. Be rum, wouldn't it?"

Fred sighed as he recalled the past.

"Couldn't cut our hair short, sir, could they?"

Fred remained silent, and his follower went on.

"Nat said first chance he had, he'd crop my ears. That's like him all
over. But he dursn't, sir. Not he. I should just like to catch him at
it. Pst! some one coming."

Fred had already heard steps below, and then the creaking of a rickety
ladder, as if some one were ascending.

Directly after a door on his left was thrown open, a flood of sunshine
burst into the cobweb-hung loft, and an officer and a private of cavalry
came rustling through the straw till they were within the scope of the
wounded lad's gaze, and a chill of misery ran through him like a shudder
as he saw Scarlett Markham, followed by Samson's brother Nat.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

SAMSON AND HIS BROTHER.

In spite of the cropped appearance of his head, a cropping that was
still closer now in consequence of his having had Fred Forrester's
clumsy shearing regulated, Scarlett Markham had pretty well regained his
old dashing cavalier aspect. He had somehow obtained a fresh hat and
feathers, and, as he stood at the foot of Fred's straw bed, with one
hand resting upon the hilt of his long sword, the other carelessly
beating a pair of leather gauntlet gloves against his leg, he looked, in
his smart scarlet and gold uniform, the beau ideal of a young officer.

Following the action of his leader, Nat passed on, and stopped at the
spot where his brother lay