great staircase. I saw Sir Godfrey and young Scarlett several times
during the struggle; then we were all pell-mell, here, there, and
everywhere, and I recollect no more."

"But where did you see them last?"

"I cannot say--in the drawing-room, I think."

"Yes. What were they doing?"

"What do you think they were likely to be doing, boy? Fighting bravely
for their king."

There was a pause.

"You do not think that--"

Fred did not finish his sentence. "That they set fire to the Hall? No;
Sir Godfrey was too proud of his old home to destroy it."

"I did not mean that," said Fred, hoarsely; "I meant--"

"Wounded--killed?" Fred bowed his head. He could not speak, for there
was a horrible idea tugging at his brain, one which he could not shake
off.

"Wounded? Perhaps. Killed? Heaven forbid! No; I hope and believe
that they fought to the last, and then escaped, or else, far more
likely, they are--"

He stopped short, for the idea that troubled Fred had now been
communicated to him, and he drew in his breath with a look of horror.
Then, as if unable to control himself, he glanced sharply at the burning
building, while, giddy and weak with emotion, Fred walked slowly back,
to make his way to his father, who met him and took his arm.

"Have you heard any news of them?" said the colonel, hoarsely.

"No, father," half whispered Fred; and he repeated the Cavalier's words.

Colonel Forrester glanced at the burning Hall, nearly every portion of
which had now been seized upon by the flames, and he drew a deep hissing
breath, as he whispered to himself--

"No, no; impossible! They must have escaped. Fred," he said aloud,
"they will not tell us if we ask--it is quite natural; so we are quite
in the dark as to how many the defenders were. There were none killed,
and I find that the wounded were all carried out. Sir Godfrey and his
son must have escaped, or if not, they will be brought in by some of the
outposts."

Fred made no answer; he could not speak, for a terrible picture was
before his eyes--that of Sir Godfrey, wounded to the death, unable to
stir, and Scarlett trying to bear him out to safety, but only to be
overtaken and beaten down by the flames.

He walked on by his father in silence, while the latter gazed straight
before him, thinking to himself of the past, when he and Sir Godfrey
were the fastest of friends.

"This cruel war!" he said to himself. "Friend against friend, brother
aga