"Some malicious people must have done it," observed the worthy mayor, who did not at all like being thus rudely summoned out of his bed, as he had been by the explosion. "High treason, rebellion, and--and--" (he could not find a third word of sufficient force to express his feelings) "has been committed in this loyal, respectable, quiet town, and the villainous perpetrators of the atrocious deed must be brought to condign punishment."

It was a pity Julian and Digby could not hear these expressions.

Some people in the crowd had their own opinions on the subject. Mr Simson was there, and he picked up a thick stick, with a thicker head, and kept it.

The coastguard men thought the smugglers had done it, but with what object they could not divine. Some wiseacres thought that the guns had gone off of themselves; others, that Dame Marlow, whose fame had long been great at Osberton, had had a hand in the work. However, though everybody looked about and talked, they were not much the wiser, and at length they retired to their homes, and the old fort was allowed to sleep on with its usual tranquillity.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

DIGBY FINDS THAT A BAD ADVISER IS THE WORST OF FRIENDS--MORE MISCHIEF AND ITS INCONVENIENCES--SERIOUS CONSEQUENCES THREATENED.

Julian and Digby would very much have liked to have been sent to Coventry, the morning after their cannon-firing, so that no disagreeable questions might have been asked them. They dressed slowly and tried to look over their lessons in their room, but got very little information out of their books. They felt very foolish when the bell rang, aid they had to make their appearance in the breakfast-room. Morning prayers were over, and they took their seats round the breakfast-table.

"Well, Julian, did you not hear the noise last night?" were the first words Marshall spoke.

"What noise?" asked Julian; "I sleep very soundly; it must have been a row to awake me."

"Why, the guns of the old castle going off by themselves," said Power.

"Not a sound," said Julian, hoa.r.s.ely.

Digby looked at him, and wondered if his friend had any conscience.

What should he say? there was the difficulty. He had always scorned a lie; if so point blank a question were put to him, how could he answer and not betray their secret?

"And did you sleep through it too, Digby?" said his uncle.

"No, I heard the noise very clearly," answered Digby, and he felt happier after he had said this, though Julian gave him a tremendous kick on the shins under the table.

"How could you remain quietly in bed after it?" asked Marshall.

"I was out," answered Digby firmly, "but I got back before you, since you must know all about it. I don't think that you have a right to be asking me questions, which I may not wish to answer. If I speak at all, I wish to speak the truth. More I do not wish to say; and now, if you like, tell me what you thought about it."

Mr Nugent looked surprised at Digby's firmness and unusual vehemence, but suspecting that Julian had not spoken the truth, and that Digby wished not to betray him, forbore to press the matter further.

Of course, both the boys were on tenter-hooks during the whole of breakfast. Digby applied himself st.u.r.dily to his food and eat on without speaking, as if he was in a very sulky mood. All day, too, while they were at their lessons, every time there was a ring at the door, they fancied that some one was coming to accuse them of their misdemeanor. Digby thought much less about it than Julian, and it also troubled him much less, because he had made up his mind, if directly accused of the deed, to acknowledge it at once, without the slightest attempt at evasion. His conscience told him, that this was the only right course to pursue; any other would plunge him into a sea of falsehood, from which he shrunk with dread. He intended, if he could avoid so doing, not to inculpate Julian, but to take all the blame on his own shoulders.

"Julian says he was not out of bed that night; he is very wrong, but I don't want to get him into a sc.r.a.pe if he wishes to avoid it," he thought to himself.

Unfortunately, he did not see Julian's conduct in its true light. That young gentleman was all the time thinking, and plotting, and contriving, how he should himself get out of the sc.r.a.pe. He had already told one falsehood, he must invent others to avoid being found out after all. He could not fix his attention on his lessons, and, of course, he did them very badly.

"You must stay in and learn these twelve lines of your Delectus by heart," said Mr Nugent, who was much displeased with him.

Digby, who had done his lessons much in his usual way, which was seldom very first-rate by-the-by, was allowed to go out. Of course all the rest were eager to go to the fort, and Digby was compelled to go with them. This was doubly annoying to Julian, who wanted to have a few minutes' conversation with him to get him to promise not to betray him, and to induce him, if possible, to tell a long story which he had concocted, to account for his not hearing the noise, and for his not accompanying Digby afterwards to the fort.

When Digby and his companions reached the fort, he was astonished at the mischief which had been committed. The old guns lay on the ground with large pieces torn out of them, and their carriages knocked to atoms, while a portion of the parapet round the embrasures had been crumbled into powder.

While they were running about, who should walk into the fort but worthy Mr Simson, the grocer. He watched his opportunity when Digby was separated from his companions, and drew him aside.

"I hope the other gentleman isn't hurt," he said.

"No, he hasn't done his lessons, so he is not allowed to go out,"

answered Digby.

"I was afraid he might be hurt. Well, you two had a fortunate escape,"

observed Mr Simson; "I know all about it; I don't want to betray you, though; I have boys of my own: but you mustn't do the same thing again, that is all."

"Thank you," answered Digby, "I am very much obliged to you, indeed I am."

"That's what I like, young gentleman, that's manly and right-spirited,"

said Mr Simson, taking his hand and pressing it warmly. "I wouldn't betray you on any account, that I wouldn't. Trust to me."

Digby was much happier after this. He felt, however, that he had escaped a great danger of the whole matter being known, and though he couldn't exactly divine what punishment he might have inflicted on him, he knew that he should at all events have been made to look very foolish.

"They wouldn't hang a fellow for such a thing, and I don't suppose they would send me to prison. Still, I am really very grateful to kind Mr Simson for not peaching. I'll always deal with him in future. How did he find out all about it, I wonder?"

He heard with much more indifference than at first, the various remarks and conjectures made on the subject, and the feeling that he had acted a manly part about it enabled him to look people boldly in the face, and thus he escaped the suspicion which would otherwise have fallen on him.

When he got home he found Julian very dull and sorry for himself. He told him what Mr Simson had said.

"Oh, then, he will go and peach upon us, and it will all be found out,"

exclaimed Julian, half-crying.

"But he promised that he would say nothing about the matter," urged Digby.

"So he might, but one can't trust to a shopkeeper," answered Julian, with a scornful turn of his lip.

"I don't see that," replied Digby; "if he is an honourable man and has good feelings, I think that one may trust to a shopkeeper as well as to the first n.o.ble in the land; I know that my uncle often says that one man's word is as good as that of another, provided both are equally honest and upright."

"All I know is, that old Simson was very impertinent to me when I went to buy the gunpowder," said Julian; "if I hadn't wanted more I wouldn't have gone to him again."

"He cautioned me about it, and not without some reason," said Digby; "So I'll maintain that old Simson is a very good fellow, and, what's more, I'm sure he looks like a gentleman in every way."

Several days pa.s.sed by, and though inquiries were made and numbers of people were examined, no clue was discovered to the originators of what the county papers called that mysterious circ.u.mstance at Osberton.

Digby couldn't help cutting out the paragraph, and sending it to Kate, darkly hinting that he might, perhaps, some day enlighten her about the matter. He was afraid of committing the account to paper, but her very acute perception at once divined that he had taken a prominent part in the affair. How she did long to hear all about it, and how he did long for the holidays that he might tell her. He had an idea that his uncle knew something about it, because after this neither he nor Julian were allowed to go out, except in company with Marshall or Power, or Toby Tubb. One day, however, all the boys had gone together to the beach, and by some means or other, unintentionally, while some were climbing up over the cliffs, Digby got separated from the rest. As he knew his way home, however, perfectly well, he did not care about it, even though it was growing dark. He had not gone far when two men overtook him; they were rough-looking fellows and dressed as seamen; he did not altogether like their appearance. They went on some little way, and then turning back, they looked him in the face, and one of them said--

"Are you Squire Heathcote's son, master?"

"Yes," answered Digby, "I am. Why do you want to know?"

"I've asked a civil question, and you've given a civil answer, master.

Good-night," replied the man who had before spoken; and then they both walked rapidly on.

Digby thought it rather odd that men of that sort should wish to know who he was, but troubled himself very little more about the matter.

When he got home, his uncle inquired how he came to be later than the rest; and knowing he always spoke the truth, was perfectly satisfied with his explanation.

"Your uncle seems to think that he can trust you much more than he can me," observed Julian one day. "It is very hard upon me, as I am older.