Fred turned white, then red, and he felt the bitterness of the general’s words the more keenly from having forgotten himself and departed from his neutral position of messenger to speak as he had. He wanted to say something angry that should show Sir Godfrey and his companions, and above all, Scarlett, that he was obliged to go, but that it was on account of his duty, and not that he feared the man with the staff. But suitable words would not come, and, bubbling over with impotent wrath and annoyance, he touched his horse’s flanks with the spurs, turned as slowly and deliberately as he could, and began to move away, but only to face round fiercely as the tall Cavalier at the window said banteringly—
“Good-bye, young game-cock.”
There was a roar of laughter from the careless party looking on.
“You coward!”
“Not I, my lad,” came back in cheery tones. “I was only joking. Good-bye, and good luck go with you, though you are a Roundhead. Think better of it; let your hair grow, and then come and ask for Harry Grey. I shall have a regiment again some day, and I shall be proud to have you at my side.”
The words were so frankly and honestly said that Fred’s eyes brightened, and passing the pike-shaft into his bridle hand, he raised his steel cap to the Cavalier, replaced it, and rode off, while the Royalist officer turned to Scarlett.
“As frank and sturdy a boy as I have ever met, excepting you, Scarlett Markham, of course,” he added, as merrily as if there were no danger near.
“Yes, he’s as true as steel,” said Scarlett, flushing. “He always was.”
“You know him?”
“It’s Fred Forrester, Colonel Forrester’s son, from the Manor. We were companions till the war broke out.”