“Yes, sir,” said Cyril dolefully. “And it did seem hard to be shot at, because I felt glad the poor fellow didn’t go off the bridge.”
The colonel coughed again.
“Hum, ha, yes,” he said, a little huskily. “It was a very narrow escape, of course, and you behaved very well. You—er—yes, of course, you quite saved his life. But I shall say no more about that now.—Here, Manning, get Mr Cyril Norton a couple of blankets.—And you’ll come and lie down by us, sir; and mind this: no more evasions, no attempts to escape.”
“I shan’t try to escape in the dark,” said Cyril drearily. “Where should I escape to, sir?”
“Ah! of course. Where to, indeed! So recollect you are a prisoner, till I place you back safely in your father’s hands.—Stop! Halt! What are you doing, Perry?”
“Only shaking hands with him, father,” said the lad.
“Then don’t shake hands with him, sir. Shake hands with gentlemen, and not with lads who disgrace themselves by disobeying their father’s orders, and satisfying their own selfishness by causing others intense anxiety.”
Perry drew in a long, deep breath, which did not go down into his lungs properly, but seemed to catch here and there.
“One moment,” said the colonel; “can you make that man Diego understand?”
“Yes, sir.”