“No,” he said quietly, as he went on smoking and gazing straight away at the densely foliaged trees. “I cannot feel that. For I know that it would be folly for you to return to meet your death. It would be impossible for you to get across the plains to the nearest place where your people are trying to hold out. Even if you could get there, the army besieging them would take you, and no one there could save your life.”
“Let me try,” I said.
He shook his head.
“It would be madness. If I let you have your horse now, you would try some such folly.”
“You call it a folly,” I replied. “I call it my duty.”
“To rush on your death? Look here, my friend; why do you want to get back? To take up your old position as a junior officer?”
“Yes, of course!”
“I thought so,” he said, with animation, and his eyes flashed as he went on. “You are young and ardent. You wish to rise and become the chief of a troop of artillery?”
“Of course,” I said.
“And some day a general, to command others?”