The old soldier returned the boy’s smile with a cold, stern gaze full of something akin to despair, as he drew a long, deep breath and said, slowly:
“You find it hard to believe, then, Aleck, my boy?”
“Hard to believe, uncle? Of course I do. Nobody could believe such a thing of you.”
“You are wrong, my boy,” said the old man, with a sigh, “for everyone believed it, and the court-martial sentenced me to be disgraced.”
“Uncle! Oh, uncle! But it wasn’t—it couldn’t be true,” cried Aleck, wildly, as he sat up in bed.
“The world said it was true, my boy,” replied the old man, whose voice sounded very low and sad.
“But you, uncle—you denied the charge?”
“Of course, my boy.”
“Then the people on the court-martial must have been mad,” cried the boy, proudly. “I thought the word of an officer and a gentleman was quite sufficient to set aside such a charge.”
“Then you don’t believe it was true, my lad?”