believed it to be his duty.
The blood rushed up into Fred's cheeks, and then to his brain, makinghim feel giddy as he strode away to avoid temptation, for his nerveswere all a-tingle, and the desire kept on intensifying to seize somestout staff and thrash his prisoner till he begged his pardon before allthe men.
But he could not do such a thing. He told himself he must suffer and bestrong. He had certain duties to perform, and he would do them, boy ashe was, like a man. And to this end he walked quietly back to thelittle camp, giving a long look round to see that all was safe.
The mossy ground beneath the trees deadened his footsteps as heapproached his prisoners to see that all were right; and there, asSamson had described, sat Scarlett, looking proud and handsome in hisuniform, while he fanned his face with his broad-leafed felt hat andfeathers, each waft of air sending his curls back from, his face.
Fred had involuntarily stopped short among the bushes to gaze at theprisoner, heedless of the fact that Nat and the other men were justbefore him, hidden by a screen of hazels.
Then the blood seemed to rush back to his breast, for a familiar voicesaid--
"Don't tell me. He used to be a decent young fellow when he came overto our place in the old days; but since he turned rebel and associatedwith my bad brother, he's a regular coward--a cur--good for nothing butto be beaten. See how white he turned when the captain hit him withthat staff. White-livered, that's what he is. Do you hear, sentries?White-livered!"
The men on guard uttered a low growl, but they did not say a word intheir officer's defence; and a bitter sensation of misery crept throughFred, seeming for the moment to paralyse him, and as he felt himselftouched, he turned slowly to look in a despondent way at Samson, whostood close behind him, pointing toward the group as another prisonersaid--
"Why, if we had our hands free, and our swords and pistols, we'd soonsend these wretched rebels to the right-about. Miserable rabble, with amiserable beggar of a boy to lead them, while we--just look at the youngcaptain! That's the sort of man to be over a troop of soldiers."
It was doubtful whether Scarlett heard them, as he sat there stillfanning his face, till at last, in a fit of half-maddening pique, Fredturned again on Samson, and signed to him to follow.
Then, striding forward, he made his way to the sentry nearest to whereScarlett was seated.
"Why are your prisoner's arms at liberty, sir?" he cried.
"Don't know, sir," said the man, surlily. "I didn't undo them."
Fred gazed at him fiercely, for he had never been spoken to before likethis, and he grasped the fact that he was losing the confidence of thosewho ought to have looked up to him as one who had almost the power oflife and death over them.
"How came your hands at liberty, sir?" cried Fred, sternly, as he turnednow on Scarlett.
The latter looked in his direction for a moment, raised his eyebrows,glanced away, then back, in the most supercilious manner, and went onfanning himself.
"I asked you, sir, how your hands came to be at liberty?"
"And, pray, how dare you ask me, insolent dog?" flashed out Scarlett.
The altercation brought three more of the guard up to where they stood,and just in time to see Fred's passion master him.
"Dog, yourself, you miserable popinjay!" cried Fred. "Here, Samson!Another of you--a fresh rope and stake. You must be taught, sir, thevirtue of humility in a prisoner."
Without a moment's hesitation, he sprang at the young officer, andseized him by the wrists, but only to hold him for a moment before onehand was wrenched away, and a back-handed blow sent Fred staggeringback.
He recovered himself directly, and was dashing at his assailant to takeprompt revenge for this second blow; but Samson already had Scarlett bythe shoulders, holding on tightly while the staff was thrust under hisarmpits, and he was rapidly bound as firmly as two strong men couldfasten the bonds.
Fred woke to the fact that his followers were watching him curiously, asif to see what steps he would take now, after receiving this secondblow; but, to their disgust, he was white as ashes, and visiblytrembling.
"Be careful," he said. "Don't spoil his plumage. We don't have so finea bird as this every day. Mind that feathered hat, Samson, my lad. Hewill want it again directly. Here, follow me."
Scarlett burst into an insulting laugh as Fred strode away--a laughforeign to the young fellow's nature; but his position had half maddenedhim, and he was ready to do and say anything, almost, to one who, hefelt, was, in a minor way, one of the betrayers of his father; while asFred went on, gazing straight before him, he could not but note thepeculiar looks of his men, who were glancing from one to the other.
Fred felt that he must do something, or his position with his men wouldbe gone for ever. They could not judge him fairly; all they couldmeasure him by was the fact that they had seen him struck twice withoutresenting the blows.
What should he do?
He could not challenge and meet his prisoner as men too often fought,and he could not fight him after the fashion of schoolboys, and as theyhad fought after a quarrel of old.
Fred was very pale as he stopped short suddenly and beckoned Samson tohis side, the result being that the ex-gardener ran to his horse, wasbusy for a few moments with his haversack, and then returned to wherehis master was standing, looking a shy white now, and with the drops ofagony standing upon his brow.
The next minute Fred had tossed off the heavy steel morion he wore,throwing it to his follower, who caught it dexterously, and thenfollowed closely at his leader's heels.
"Master or Captain Scarlett Markham," he said, in a husky voice, "youhave taken advantage of your position as a prisoner to strike me twicein the presence of my men. It was a cowardly act, for I could notretaliate."
Scarlett uttered a mocking laugh, which was insolently echoed by hismen.
Fred winced slightly, but he went on--
"All this comes, sir, from the pride and haughtiness consequent uponyour keeping the company of wild, roystering blades, who call themselvesCavaliers--men without the fear of God before their eyes, and certainlywithout love for their country. You must be taught humility, sir."
Scarlett laughed scornfully, and his men again echoed his forced mirth.
"Pride, sir," continued Fred, quietly, "goes with gay trappings, andsilken scarves, and feathered hats. Here, Samson, give this prisoner adecent headpiece while he is with us."
He snatched off the plumed hat, and tossed it carelessly to hisfollower.
"And while you are with us, sir, you must be taught behaviour. You aretoo hot-headed, Master Scarlett. You will be better soon."
Scarlett was gazing fiercely and defiantly in his old companion's face,hot, angry, and flushed, as he felt himself seized by the collar. Thenhe sat there as if paralysed, unable to move, stunned, as it werementally, in his surprise, and gradually turning as white as Fred asthere were a few rapid snips given with a pair of sheep shears, androughly but effectively his glossy ringlets were shorn away, to fallupon his shoulders.
Then he flung himself back with a cry of rage. But it was too late; thecurls were gone, and he was closely cropped as one of theParliamentarian soldiers, while his enemy-guard burst into a roar.
"There, Master Scarlett Markham," said Fred, quietly, "your head will becooler now; and you will not be so ready to use your hands against onewhose position makes him unarmed. Samson, the headpiece. Yes, thatwill do. Master Scarlett, shall I put it on, as your hands are bound?"
"You coward!" cried Scarlett, hoarsely, as he gazed full in Fred's eyes;and then again, with his face deadly pale, "You miserable coward! Bah!"
He turned away with a withering look of scorn, and, amid the cheering ofhis men, Fred tossed the shears to Samson, and strode away sick at heartand eager to walk right off into the wood, where, as soon as he was outof eye-shot, he threw himself down and buried his face in his hands.
"Miserable coward!" he said hoarsely. "Yes, he is right. How could Ido such a des
picable thing!"
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
A CLEVER SCHEMER.
Fred Forrester felt that he had had his revenge--that he had hit back ina way that humbled and wounded his enemy more deeply than any physicalstroke could possibly have done; and, as has been the case withthousands before and since, he had found out that the trite oldaphorism, "Revenge is sweet," is a contemptible fallacy. For even ifthere is a sweet taste in the mouth, it is followed by a twang of suchintense bitterness that no sensible being ever feels disposed to tasteagain.
He had struck back fiercely, and bruised himself, so that he felt sorein a way which made him writhe; and at last, when, urged by theknowledge that he must attend to his duty, he rose, instead of walkingback to where his men were waiting the orders to continue the route,proud and elate, he felt as if he were guilty and ashamed