“The fact is, sir, he was brutally ill-using one of the syces, who did not dare to defend himself, and I knocked the fellow down.”
“Oh!” said the major, coldly; and he walked away, but turned back.
“You had better go to your quarters, sir,” he said. “I suppose we can do you no good, Danby?”
“No; thanks. Only let me have the nurse. Place will be cooler without company.”
I went to my quarters, feeling as if the whole of my military career had come to an end through my passionate, quixotic behaviour; and yet somehow I could not deeply regret my action.
I was sitting in my dim room, watching the moths and flies circling round the shaded lamp, when I received a summons to go to the major’s quarters, and on going across I found Brace there, and the doctor.
“This is a serious matter, Vincent,” said the major. “Dr Danby gives a very bad account of this man’s state. How did it all happen? Tell me everything.”
I explained all the circumstances, and then there was a pause. I glanced at Brace, who sat there in the shade, so that I could not see his face, and a curious sensation of misery attacked me as I began to think of court-martials, and dismissal, or resignation, if there were no worse punishment, and my brain had already pictured the man’s death, with the following military funeral, and volleys fired over the grave, when the major said—
“We must wait and see how this matter turns out, Vincent. It will be a most painful thing for me to report at head-quarters. But I will say no more to-night, only to warn you that you are too quixotic.”
That word again! How I did loathe it then.