This ended, the echoes of the place were awakened by the blast of a trumpet, and the boy stood looking in wonder at the strength of the force drawn up in the court, and saw fully half of them march towards the great gate-way. Then he heard the drawbridge lowered, and the heavy, hollow tramp of the men as they passed across. Soon after, the neighing of horses reached his ears, and then came the beating of hoofs on the bridge, raising echoes from the walls at the other end, as a troop rode in and were drawn up on either side—sturdy-looking fellows, who sat their horses well, as Roy was fain to grant in spite of Ben Martlet’s disparaging remarks.
He was still watching the troopers and their horses, when he heard a movement outside his door as if the sentries had presented arms; and directly after the general strode into the room, with his stern, thoughtful countenance lighting up as he encountered Roy’s frank, bold eyes.
“Good-morning,” he said, holding out his hand.
Roy flushed, but made no movement to take it.
“As one gentleman to another, Roy Royland,” he said, smiling. “We can be enemies again when we have fighting to do. Come, we can be friends now.”
Roy felt drawn towards him, and he slowly raised his hand, which was firmly gripped and held for a few moments.
“Ah, that’s better!—Well, prisoner, how have you slept?”
“I? Not at all,” said Roy, bitterly.
“That is a pity, too,” said the general. “You ought to have slept. You had no guilty conscience to keep you awake. You only had the knowledge of duty done.”
“And what about the poor fellows who fell fighting for us? Would not that keep me awake?”