Colonel Myddelton was a widower, and Barbara, young though she was, had long acted as the mistress of the household.Yet, in spite of her good sense and caution, Barbara had been the obstacle to the Colonel's departure.She was, he considered, unfit to be left alone with no more stalwart companions than old Digger, the maids, and the children; but her repeated assurances that she felt no foreboding at last conquered, and that morning, as we have seen, he had ridden off.
"You know, father," she had told him again and again, "Philip is close at hand, and truly I can see no danger.Was not I alone for days and nights together when you were with the King and the Prince?""Well, well," the Colonel had responded at last; "but I shall speak a word to Matthew as I pass the forge to-day, and he will keep his eye on the place." Matthew Hale, the blacksmith, had served under Colonel Myddelton in more than one campaign, and he rang as true as his own anvil.
Thus it was that Barbara was left alone in the great house, with none to bear her company but Jack, who was but twelve, and Marjorie, who was but eight, and little Alys, and old Digger, the odd man, and the maids.There were also, it is true, stablemen and gardeners, but they lived in the village.
The next of age to Barbara was Philip (Philip Sidney Myddelton in full, so named after that sweet and noble gentleman and soldier who fell at Zutphen).Philip was sixteen, and at this time was still at his lessons with Mr.Fullarton, of Framshott, a village eight miles distant.Mr.
Fullarton was a ripe scholar who kept a house wherein some score of boys whose parents had no strong liking for the great grammar schools were received and fitted with enough learning to take them into Oxford or Cambridge.The boys ranged in age from ten to seventeen, and at this time Philip was their leader.None could shoot with a crossbow as skillfully as he (that very spring he had killed twenty-three water-rats, and you know how wary they are); none was so fearless a rider; none more expert at flying the hawk or training hounds.The boys' worthy instructor received a liberal sum in payment for his services, and his house was thus made more of a home than a mere school.Each boy who wanted it was permitted to keep his own horse and dog, and after lessons were over their liberty was little encroached upon, provided that they observed the rules of the house.
The Reverend Jeremy Fullarton was Royalist to the marrow, and only Royalists entrusted their sons to his keeping; hence the house was a home of Cavalier sentiment.The older boys had even constituted themselves into a little corps, and all games had given way before the joys of drilling and military tactics.Here again Philip led, although his sworn allies, Hugh Lorimer and Vernon Hutchinson (a nephew of the great Colonel Hutchinson, whose memoirs were written by his wife Lucy)and Rupert Ommaney, shared the command.Not often do you find a bond uniting as many as four schoolboys in devoted friendship, but such was the case with this gallant quartet, Philip and Hugh, Rupert and Vernon.
"IS IT INTERESTING?" THE LITTLE OLD LADY ASKED EARNESTLY.
"VERY," SAID JANET.
"I LIKE BARBARA," SAID HESTER.
"I LIKE PHILIP," SAID GREGORY.
GODFREY FAIRFAX WAS ABOUT TO BEGIN AGAIN, WHEN HORACE INTERRUPTED.
"EXCUSE ME," HE SAID."BUT I'VE BEEN THINKING.DIDN'T YOU WRITE 'FOR THEGOOD CAUSE'?"
"YES," SHE SAID.
"WHY," SAID HORACE, "THAT'S MY FAVOURITE BOOK.YOU REMEMBER THAT, JACK? THEWARS OF THE ROSES AND THE YORKIST FAMILY? YOU MUST REMEMBER WHERE THESPY--GILES FEATHERHEAD--IS CAUGHT IN THE BUTTERY, AND HOW THEY DUCK HIM?""OF COURSE I DO," SAID JACK."IT'S PERFECTLY RIPPING."GODFREY FAIRFAX WAS SO PLEASED TO HEAR THIS THAT HER VOICE FOR A MOMENT ORTWO WAS QUITE HUSKY.THEN SHE RESUMED.
In the evening Matthew Hale appeared bearing a basket of tools, and insisted upon testing all locks and bolts, and Barbara and he explored the house together, making all safe with the exception of a window in the library.This room was on the ground-floor, easily accessible, and, try as he would, there was one window which the blacksmith could not secure.The good fellow was for sleeping on the floor all night by way of guard, but Barbara would not hear of it, and, in the end, Bevis, the mastiff, the great dog that had followed Colonel Myddelton into camp in the late war, was chained outside the window.Satisfied with this arrangement, Matthew pulled his forelock and said good night, and Barbara prepared for bed.
Folks kept better hours in those days than we now do.First she peeped in at the sleeping children.Then she talked long and earnestly with the cook concerning the morrow's programme, and at nine o'clock she climbed to her room.
Barbara, however, could not sleep; so, after an hour or two had passed, she rose, lit a candle, threw on a wrap, and descended the broad staircase, intent upon a queer and enthralling Spanish book--the story of a mad knight and his comic, matter-of-fact attendant, which was a favourite of her father's.
The book was wont to stand in a corner of the library close to his hand as he sat writing by the window, and, opening the door, Barbara crossed the floor with her hand outstretched to take it.So familiar was she with the mad knight's position on the shelves that she carried no light.
Her hand was within a yard of the sheepskin cover when she leaped back with frozen blood, for there, a foot from her, in her father's chair, was the figure of a man.Instantly she remembered the open window.A breath from the roses floated in and fanned her face; until her dying day Barbara had but to be conscious of the scent of roses to see again that darkened room, to feel again that tightening of the heart.She could neither scream nor move.
The tension was snapped by the man himself, who suddenly awoke and stretched his arms, and, in doing so, smote Barbara on the shoulder.He sprang to his feet with a cry of astonishment and apology, and at that moment she was herself again.
