“That’s right,” said the Colonel, reading over his despatch and crossing i’s and dotting i’s here and there.
“Wound trouble you much still?”
“Gives me a sharp sting, sir, at times, back and front; but I always find that it is when we are going to have a change of weather.”
The Colonel paid no heed, and Bracy added:
“I dare say it will soon pass off, though.”
“It will not,” said the Colonel quietly, and to the young man’s dismay. “You will feel it more or less all your life. Yes,” he added, looking up and smiling, “a twinge to remind you that you were once a brave officer of the Queen.”
Bracy coughed, for he felt a little husky, and as if he were standing near a fire.
“Now, Bracy, business. I cannot go on sending despatch after despatch, none of which reach their destination. Either going or coming, my messengers have come to a bad end or been unfaithful.”
Bracy made no reply, for none was expected; and the Colonel now looked up, and, with his hands resting upon the table, gazed full in the young man’s eyes.
“I want a messenger whom I can trust,” he said, “a man who will undertake the task of delivering my despatch as a duty to his country. There are plenty of good, trusty lads in the regiment. Whom would you select—the best you know?”