But two of our number were very glad of the news, and these were that dear, big priest, and my own beloved master.
They went out together at sunset to talk matters over, as they wandered slowly up and down among the shady date trees. Jock McNab accompanied them at a little distance, and I trotted quietly between the two.
At last they sat down at a spot which afforded them a beautiful view of the river.
“War is a terrible thing, my friend,” began the priest. “Are you not glad that peace is concluded?”
“War is, as you say, a terrible thing,” replied my soldier-master; “yet I fear we redcoats like it. You see, we all look forward to honour and glory. Every private carries a marshal’s baton in his knapsack, figuratively speaking, and yet, for one reason, I am glad this war is over.”
“Ah! I knew,” said the priest smiling, “that I should soon reach down to that which is next your heart.”
“How true and good you are!” said Edgar.
“And do you know what I have done?” continued the priest. “What I have dared to do?”
My master turned quickly round to him.
“You have been to see the General!” he said quickly.