He had feared that his coming might be misinterpreted. But there was no danger of that. When he looked at Colonel Silsbee again he knew there was no danger of it. The man, with his sympathetic nature, had divined the boy’s feelings to their greatest depth. He rose from his chair and laid his hand on Brightly’s shoulder.
“I am glad you came,” he said. “You must suffer with the rest, but—I am glad you came. I shall remember it of you,—I shall never forget it.”
It was strange, but Colonel Silsbee’s voice had broken, too. He turned his face away and resumed his seat, and, in the silence that ensued, Brightly went quietly out.
The next morning at the opening of the morning session, Colonel Silsbee came in, and conducted the Scripture reading and prayer as usual, but made no remarks. He merely gave to the officer of the day, for record, a slip of paper which contained the order placing on perpetual delinquency all members of the school who had participated in the rebellion.
That night, at retreat, another order was read by the acting adjutant, reducing permanently to the ranks all officers, both commissioned and non-commissioned, who had taken part in the revolt.
But what had become of Brede? This was the question which now agitated the school. He had not as yet returned to Riverpark. He had not been seen by any one connected with the academy since his departure northward on the train from New Hornbury. Every one now knew of his treacherous and cowardly conduct, and the general opinion was that he was afraid to return.
But the doubt as to his whereabouts was soon to be dispelled. It was not long after taps that night, that those of the boys who were not yet asleep heard an unusual commotion downstairs. There were hurrying footsteps, loud voices, once a noise as of a slight scuffle; then all was quiet again.
On the following morning, at the reveille roll-call, a whisper ran rapidly around the school to the effect that Brede was in the guard-house. This was a cell-like room, on the second floor, in a remote corner of the building, with one narrow window near the ceiling, and a heavy door studded with round-headed spikes, and locked with a great brass key.