“Forrester, I want a chat with you. Come into my room. I have fresh despatches.”
The colonel followed his leader out of the little parlour which had been devoted to the wounded lad by the general’s command, he having insisted upon its being retained when he joined them there, and tents had sprung up in all directions upon the moor close to the inn.
Directly after, there was a hoarse cough heard outside, in company with a heavy step.
“Hem! Master Fred, sir.”
“You, Samson?”
“Yes, sir. Alone, sir?”
“Yes.”
“May I speak to you!”
“Yes; go on.”
Samson’s head appeared at the window, upon the sill of which he leaned his arms as he gazed in.