"And," broke in Colonel Treves, "use it to recover such shreds of honour as are left to you."
He drew open the door.
"Thanks," said Manton, taking the pistol from the desk. He slipped the weapon into his hip pocket. The Colonel halted, looking back at him in surprise.
"What are you going to do?"
"I am going to use it," answered John, "if occasion arises."
He saw the Colonel hesitate. Some deep emotion seemed to stir within him. Then with an effort he turned swiftly, and was about to hurry from the room. Manton strode towards him.
"There was another way out?" he questioned, rapidly.
"There was, and you failed to take it. You whined that you couldn't face the army again—you, a Treves! In the past, before my time and yours," went on the Colonel, suddenly violent again, "there have been Treves who have been fools and spendthrifts; there may have been Treves who kept their honour none too clean—but never in our long line has there been a coward until you came, until you grew up to be a curse to my existence, and made my life a shame to me!" His lip trembled, the old, proud head was held aloft, but a world of desolation dwelt in the faded eyes. On a sudden impulse, John gripped him by the hand; he could feel the old man resisting him, seeking to free himself.
"I want to make you a promise, sir," he said. "I am going to Ryde the first thing in the morning. I have a friend there who will help me to get back into the army."
The Colonel narrowed his eyes and tried to read the expression on his face.