“Then tell me as a brother-officer that I am really wrong.”
“I tell you that you are a coward and blind,” I cried; “and sooner than humble myself, I’d do as I said, and die.”
“Gil,” he said hoarsely, “you are right. I can’t go down on my knees to you here, but I do believe you, lad. I was blind and miserable, and disappointment made me doubt you more and more. Forgive me, lad; I own it. You couldn’t have been such a miserable hound.”
I wanted to speak, but the words would not come for long enough. When they did, I could only whisper huskily—
“May I go to my guns?”
He nodded, for he could not speak either for a time.
“Like this?” I said, making a sign towards my uniform.
“Anyhow, as long as it is the lad I believed in from the first,” he half whispered; and then, in quite his old tone, “but we must ride and fire as we never rode and fired before. Now then, come and have a few words with the men.”
I went with him, and he spoke three words, the men answering with a cheer, and I saw Dick Dobbs raise the trumpet, and Sergeant Craig take a run toward his horse, while Denny seemed to try and catch my eye.
Then Haynes and Danby came up, and both shook hands, or, rather, asked me to shake hands with them, in a deprecating way, and soon after, as if it were once more a dream, I was in the saddle by the guns, listening to my father’s advice to Brace. He was to try and hold the rajah’s people engaged with the help of the cavalry, harassing them till the infantry could come up, but he was not to risk losing the guns.