“I don't like leaving them so long under the mistake,” answered Agar, half yielding to authoritative persuasion, half tempted by ambition and a love of adventure. “I don't like it, General. The straight thing would be to telegraph home at once.”
In the wavering smile that crossed the dark face there was suggested a fine contempt for the straight thing unaccompanied by some tangible advantage.
“Who are they?” inquired the General almost affectionately. “Who are your people?”
Agar walked to the tent door and looked out. There was some clatter of swords going on outside, and as commander of this post it was his duty to know all that was passing. He turned, and standing in the doorway, quite filling it with his bulk, he answered:
“My father died three years ago. I have a step-mother and a step-brother, that is all—besides friends.”
The General stooped to loosen the strap of his spur.
“Of course,” he said in that attitude, “I know you are not a married man.”
“No.”
Beneath the brim of the helmet, which he had not laid aside, the Jew's keen black eyes were watching, watching. But they saw nothing; for there is no one so impenetrable as a man with a clear conscience and a large faith.
“My idea was,” continued General Michael, “that two, or at the most three, people besides you and I be let into the secret.”