“I do not like to refuse you, Fred: but if I say Yes, it will be to include you in my own defeated hopes. For many a year Mr. Barrington has refused to give one sign of his forgiveness; for in his treatment of you I only recognize the honorable feeling of exempting the son from the penalty due to the father. But perhaps defeat is better than self-reproach, and as I have a strong conviction I could serve him, I am ready to risk a failure.”
“I may make the attempt, then?” said Fred, eagerly. “I will write to Miss Barrington to-day.”
“And now of yourself. What of your career? How do you like soldiering, boy?”
“Less than ever, sir; it is only within the last week or two that we have seen anything beyond barrack or parade duty. Now, however, we have been called to repress what are called risings in the northern shires; and our task has been to ride at large unarmed mobs and charge down masses, whose grape-shot are brickbats. Not a very glorious campaign!”
The old man smiled, but said nothing for a moment.
“Your colonel is on leave, is he not?” asked he.
“Yes. We are commanded by that Major Stapylton I told you of.”
“A smart officer, but no friend of yours, Fred,” said the General, smiling.
“No, sir; certainly no friend of mine,” said the young man, resolutely. “To refuse me a week's leave to go and meet my father, whom I have not seen for years, and, when pressed, to accord me four days, is to disgust me with himself and the service together.”
“Well, as you cannot be my guest, Fred, I will be yours. I 'll go back with you to headquarters. Stapylton is a name I used to be familiar with long ago. It may turn out that I know his family; but let us talk of Barrington. I have been thinking it would be better not to link any question of his own interests with my desire to meet him, but simply to say I 'm in England, and wish to know if he would receive me.”