I listened with my heart in my throat.  The noise seemed to come from the hall,—­a prodigious pounding.  Presently it stopped, and a man’s voice cried out:—­

“Ho there, within!”

My first impulse was to answer.  But fear kept me still.

“Batter down the door,” some one shouted.

There was a sound of shuffling in the portico, and the same voice:—­

“Now then, all together, lads!”

Then came a straining and splitting of wood, and with a crash the door gave way.  A lantern’s rays shot through the hall.

“The house is as dark as a tomb,” said a voice.

“And as empty, I reckon,” said another.  “John Temple and his spy have got away.”

“We’ll have a search,” answered the first voice.

They stood for a moment in the drawing-room door, peering, and then they entered.  There were five of them.  Two looked to be gentlemen, and three were of rougher appearance.  They carried lanterns.

“That window’s open,” said one of the gentlemen.  “They must have been here to-day.  Hello, what’s this?” He started back in surprise.

I slid down from the window-seat, and stood facing them, not knowing what else to do.  They, too, seemed equally confounded.

“It must be Temple’s son,” said one, at last.  “I had thought the family at Temple Bow.  What’s your name, my lad?”

“David Trimble, sir,” said I.

“And what are you doing here?” he asked more sternly.

“I was left in Mr. Temple’s care by my father.”

“Oho!” he cried.  “And where is your father?”

“He’s gone to fight the Cherokees,” I answered soberly.  “To skin a man named Cameron.”

At that they were silent for an instant, and then the two broke into a laugh.

“Egad, Lowndes,” said the gentleman, “here is a fine mystery.  Do you think the boy is lying?”

The other gentleman scratched his forehead.

“I’ll have you know I don’t lie, sir,” I said, ready to cry.

“No,” said the other gentleman.  “A backwoodsman named Trimble went to Rutledge with credentials from North Carolina, and has gone off to Cherokee Ford to join McCall.”

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the first gentleman.  He came up and laid his hand on my shoulder, and said:—­

“Where is Mr. Temple?”

“That I don’t know, sir.”

“When did he go away?”

I did not answer at once.

“That I can’t tell you, sir.”

“Was there any one with him?”

“That I can’t tell you, sir.”

“The devil you can’t!” he cried, taking his hand away.  “And why not?”

I shook my head, sorely beset.

“Come, Mathews,” cried the gentleman called Lowndes.

“We’ll search first, and attend to the lad after.”

And so they began going through the house, prying into every cupboard and sweeping under every bed.  They even climbed to the attic; and noting the open casement in the cupola, Mr. Lowndes said:—­