“I may tell you, Mr Darrell, that I signed this man’s sentence with extreme reluctance, and it was not until everything had been tried that these extreme measures were decided on; but we cannot have the force disgraced. To be brief, I will leave this matter in your hands. If you can bring me this man’s word as a soldier that he will from this time forward begin earnestly to amend, I will let him off the degrading portion of his sentence.”
“Oh, Sir George!” began Dick excitedly.
“That will do, Mr Darrell. See the man, and come back to me at once. I am very busy: good-morning.”
Dick saluted, and turned to the door at once.
“One moment, Mr Darrell,” said the general, bending down to write. “Knowing what I do of the man from old reports. I do not think you will succeed. If your kindly effort does not bear fruit you need not return. Here is a pass to the man’s cell.”
Sir George gave the young man a short nod, and took his place at his writing-table; while Dick hurried off to the cells, anxious lest he should encounter his brother-officers, who would question him about his proceedings.
A few minutes later the cell door was being unlocked, and he stepped into the gloomy place where Hanson was seated upon a bench, nursing his injured ankle, with the light streaming down upon him from the little barred window.
The man stirred slowly as the door was closed behind his visitor.
“Well, is it time?” he said in a low growl.
“For your punishment? No; not yet.”