This was done, and the party moved from under the shadows of the Hut, down to the gate.  Here the two soldiers halted for several minutes, taking a deliberate and as thorough a survey of the scene without, as the darkness permitted.  Then the chaplain opened the gate, and they issued forth, moving with great caution down the lawn, towards the fleets.  As a matter of course, captain Willoughby was perfectly familiar with all the lanes, ditches, bridges and fields of his beautiful possessions.  The alluvial soil that lay spread around him was principally the result of ages of deposit while the place was covered with water; but, as the overflowing of the water had been produced by a regular dam, the latter once removed, the meadows were free, from the excessive moisture which generally saturates drained lands.  Still, there were two or three large open ditches, to collect the water that came down the adjacent mountains or bubbled up from springs near the margin of the woods Across these ditches the roads led, by bridges, and the whole valley was laid out, in this manner, equally with a view to convenience and rural beauty.  A knowledge of all the windings was of great use, on the present occasion, even on the advance; while, on the retreat, it might clearly be the means of preserving the lives, or liberties, of the two adventurers.

The captain did not proceed by the principal road which led from the Hut to the mills, the great thoroughfare of the valley, since it might be watched, in order to prevent a hostile sortie against the camp; but he inclined to the right, or to the westward, in order to visit the cabins and barns in that quarter.  It struck him his invaders might have quietly taken possession of the houses, or even have stolen his horses and decamped.  In this direction, then, he and his son proceeded, using the greatest caution in their movements, and occasionally stopping to examine the waning fires at the rock, or to throw a glance behind them at the stockade.  Everything remained in the quiet which renders a forest settlement so solemn and imposing, after the daily movements of man have ceased.  The deepest and most breathless attention could not catch an unaccustomed sound.  Even the bark of a dog was not heard, all those useful animals having followed their masters into the Hut, as if conscious that their principal care now lay in that direction.  Each of the sentinels had one of these animals near him, crouched under the stockade, in the expectation of their giving the alarm, should any strange footstep approach.  In this manner most of the distance between the Knoll and the forest was crossed, when the major suddenly laid a hand on his father’s arm.

“Here is something stirring on our left,” whispered the former—­“It seems, too, to be crouching under the fence.”

“You have lost your familiarity with our rural life, Bob,” answered the father, with a little more confidence of tone, but still guardedly, “or this fragrant breath would tell you we are almost on a cow.  It is old Whiteback; I know her by her horns.  Feel; she is here in the lane with us, and within reach of your hand.  A gentler animal is not in the settlement.  But, stop—­pass your hand on her udder—­she will not stir—­ how is it, full or not?”