Maud coloured; after which she smiled faintly, and proceeded:  “We should speak reverently of a father—­and such a father, too.  But does it not seem probable to you, Bob, that the many discussions he has with Mr. Woods may have a tendency to confirm each in his notions?”

Robert Willoughby would have answered in the affirmative, had not a sudden movement at the Hut prevented.

Chapter XII.

  From Flodden ridge
  The Scots beheld the English host
  Leave Barmore wood, their evening post,
  And heedful watched them as they crossed
  The Till by Twisal Bridge.

  Scott

It was just at this instant that most of the women of the settlement rushed from the court, and spread themselves within the stockade, Mrs. Willoughby and Beulah being foremost in the movement.  The captain left the gate, too, and even the men, who were just about to raise the last leaf, suspended their toil.  It was quite apparent some new cause for uneasiness or alarm had suddenly awoke among them.  Still the stack of arms remained untouched, nor was there any new demonstration among the Indians.  The major watched everything, with intense attention, through the glass.

“What is it, dear Bob?” demanded the anxious Maud.  “I see my dearest mother—­she seems alarmed.”

“Was it known to her that you were about to quit the house, when you came out on this walk?”

“I rather think not.  She and Beulah were in the nursery with little Evert, and my father was in the fields.  I came out without speaking to any person, nor did I meet any before entering the forest.”

“Then you are now first missed.  Yes, that is it—­and no wonder, Maud, it creates alarm.  Merciful God!  How must they all feel, at a moment like this!”

“Fire your rifle, Bob—­that will draw their eyes in this direction, and I will wave my handkerchief—­perhaps that might be seen.  Beulah has received such signals from me, before.”

“It would never do.  No, we must remain concealed, watching their movements, in order to be able to aid them at the proper time.  It is painful to endure this suspense, beyond a doubt; but the pain must be borne in order to ensure the safety of one who is so very, very precious to us all.”

Notwithstanding the fearful situation in which she was placed, Maud felt soothed by these words.  The language of affection, as coming from Robert Willoughby, was very dear to her at all times, and never more than at a moment when it appeared that even her life was suspended, as it might be, by a hair.

“It is as you say,” she answered gently, giving him her hand with much of her ancient frankness of manner; “we should be betrayed, and of course lost—­but what means the movement at the Hut?”