“Fred! My son!”
“Don’t be angry with me now I am so weak.”
“Yes, too weak, my dear boy,” said Colonel Forrester, as he knelt down by the bedside, and passed his arm beneath the lad’s neck as he kissed his forehead, “too weak to talk about all this. Be silent and listen to me.”
Fred answered by a look.
“You think you have disgraced yourself by letting your enemies out-manoeuvre you, and with the prisoners turn the table on your little escort?”
Fred gave another pitiful look.
“That you have disgraced yourself for ever as a young officer?”
“Yes,” whispered the wounded lad.
“And that I, your father and your colonel, am angry for what you look upon as a lapse?”
Fred tried to bow his head, but failed.