“Then you shouldn’t have come prowling about the camp in the middle of the night,” cried the colonel. “Of course, sir, I took you for some wild beast or marauding Indian.”
“Well,” said Cyril, “now you know, sir, and I suppose I can go back and try to sleep.”
“Go back? Yes, sir, first thing—to your father,” cried the colonel fiercely. “I suppose he does not know you have come?”
“No, sir.”
“Of course not. A pretty disgraceful escapade, upon my word, sir! I only wish I were back in my regiment, and you were one of my subalterns. I’d punish you pretty severely for this, I promise you.”
“Would you, sir?” said Cyril drearily. “I thought I was getting punished enough. I’m sorry I disturbed you, sir; I only wanted to get close up, and touch Perry’s hand.”
“Bah!” cried the colonel. “Why did you want to touch Perry’s hand?”
“Because I was so lonely and miserable, lying there with my feet sore. I couldn’t sleep, sir. The stones have cut them, and I was afraid to wash them, for fear you should see how white my legs were.”
The colonel coughed.
“Here; stop a moment, sir,” he said, in rather a different tone. “You see, I might have shot you.”