“Then you do not remember me, Sergeant Macfarlane?”
The soldier looked at him earnestly. “Why,” he exclaimed suddenly, “it's Hector Campbell!”
“Right enough, sergeant.”
“You have changed mightily, sir; you were but a laddie when you went away nigh four years ago. The news came to the regiment that you had been made a captain, and proud we all were. The colonel will be right glad to see you,” and he led the way into the house.
“Then the regiment has not been on service just lately?”
“We had two years on the Rhine; but we came back here last autumn. The Red Cardinal was not fond of us, but he knew that he could trust us—which is more than he could have done some of the regiments—so he had us back again; and we were not sorry, for it was but dull work there—sieges and nought else.”
He was just going to open the door of the inner room when Hector said, “You can announce me, Macfarlane, as Colonel Campbell.”
“Gude Lord,” the sergeant ejaculated, “ye dinna say that ye are a colonel?” Then reassuming with a great effort his military stiffness, he opened the door and announced in a loud tone, “Colonel Hector Campbell.”
There was an exclamation of astonishment from the colonel and two or three officers who were sitting with him.
“Why, Campbell,” the former said, coming forward and warmly shaking his hand, “you are changed indeed, and you have come back to us almost the living image of your father when he first joined.”