"Thank you!" he said to some one holding the glass to his lips, but did not open his eyes. He was very tired.
"G. W. is coming around all right," said a grave, quiet voice. "Plenty of nourishment, nurse,—all that you can get for him. That boy mustn't slip through our fingers." The boy heard, but he did not stir.
A new voice broke in upon the strange calm. "Can't you speak to me, my child?"
The simple question sent a thrill through the faithful heart. G. W. faintly unclosed his eyes. He must see who was speaking in that dear, dear voice.
"Colonel!" he whispered. "Oh! my Colonel!"
Then G. W.'s eyes opened wide. On the pillow of the bed next his own—for they were both lying in the tent hospital—he saw the face of Colonel Austin. The one face in the world that G. W. longed to see, and the one that he had dreamed and dreamed and dreamed was gone forever!
Little G. W. opened his lips with a gasp and an effort to speak. But memory rushed upon him. In that glance of recognition he remembered what he had done.
"I done broke my word, Colonel!" was what he said. Two slow tears rolled down the dusky cheeks.
"Yes, G. W."
"An' I follered you, Colonel, like you tole me not to."