“That weary deserts we may tread,

    A dreary labyrinth may thread,

    Through dark ways underground be led.”

    Archbishop Trench.

Poor Johnnie was not very happy at that moment. He had descended from the coach at Poppleby, and set out to walk to Downhill, wondering how he should be received at his cousin’s workshop. Everything seemed strangely quiet as he crossed the fields, where he had wandered last night, but there were now and then far-off echoes of voices and shouts. He avoided the village of Downhill, and made his way towards the little street and common of Uphill, but not a creature could he see except Todd’s donkey and a few geese.

The workshop was shut up, no one was about either there or at the house. He considered a moment whether to try to see what was doing at Greenhow, or to go and tell his aunt how he had fared, and that he knew the captain must be at home by this time.

He was glad he had decided on the latter, for the cottage door stood open, and Judith was sitting up in bed, her eyes wide open, and her breath panting with anxiety and terror.

“Oh, Johnnie, my dear! There you are! Oh, they are all gone! The ladies, the dear ladies, and the little babies,” she gasped, and fell back almost fainting.

“The captain is there by this time, and the soldiers, never you fear,” said John. “Here, you’d better take this,” trying to drop out some of the cordial he knew she took in her attacks.

“The soldiers! Your father—your poor father!” she gasped again, and she was so ill that John, dreadfully frightened, could only hold her up on one arm, and press the cordial to her lips with the other hand. It was an overdose, but that hardly mattered; and before very long, just as she was beginning to quiet down, there approached a fresh sound of screaming, and his mother burst into the house. “Oh, my poor man! My poor Dan!” she cried. “They have got him! The soldiers have got him!” and, as John was laying down his aunt to come and hear, she rushed up the stairs with, “And it is all your doing, you unnatural, good-for-nothing varmint! That was what you were after all night, you and your aunt, the adder that I have warmed at my bosom! Turning against your own poor father, to set them bloody-minded soldiers on him! And now he’ll be taken and hanged, and I shall be a poor miserable widow woman all along of you!”

This was poured forth as fast as the words would come out of Molly’s mouth, but before they had all streamed forth, Judith was choking in a hysterical fit, so like a convulsion that Johnnie could only cry, “Aunt! aunt! Mother, look!” And Molly herself was frightened, and began to say, “There! there!” while she helped him to hold her sister, and little Judy flew off, half in terror and half in search of help, crying out that aunt was in a fit.

Help of a certain sort came—a good deal more of it than was wanted—and the room was crowded up, and there were a good many “Poor dears!” “There, nows!” and proposals of burnt feathers and vinegar; but Mrs Spurrell, who was reckoned the most skilled in illness, came at last, put the others out, especially as they wanted to see about their husbands’ teas, and brought a sort of quiet, in which Judith lay exhausted, but shuddering now and then, and Molly sobbed by the fire. John gathered from the exclamations that the Carbonel family were safe somewhere, that Miss Sophy had gone on like the woman preacher at Downhill, that Greenhow had been on fire, but nobody was hurt, though the soldiers had ridden in upon them, “so as was a shame to see,” and had got poor Dan and Ned Fell, and all sure locked up.

John was shocked at this, for he had not meant to do more than send Captain Carbonel home to protect his family, and had not realised all the consequences. In a few minutes more, however, his father himself tramped in, and the first thing he did was to fall on the lad in a fury, grasping him by the collar, with horrible abuse of him for an unnatural informer, turning against his own father, and dealing a storm of heavy blows on him with a great stick. Down clattered Mrs Spurrell, asking if he wished to kill his sister-in-law?

“A good thing too—a traitor in one’s house,” he burst out, with more raging words and fresh blows on poor John, who never cried out through all; but his mother rushed down the next moment, crying out that she would not have her son mauled and beaten, and laying fast hold of the stick.

It was turning into a fight between husband and wife, and Mrs Spurrell, who had more of her senses about her than any one else, called out, “Off with you, John Hewlett! I’ll tackle ’em!”

Poor Johnnie had no choice but to obey her. Bruised, worn out, hungry, uncertain of everything, and miserable about his aunt, he could only wander slowly away, feeling himself a traitor. He found his way to the workshop, and had just thrown himself down in the wood-shed, when he heard his master’s voice calling out—

“Who’s there?”

“Me! Johnny! Father’s in a mortal rage with me for telling the captain, but I never thought as how all the soldiers would come.”

“And a very good thing they did, to put a stop to su............