“Tuts! never mind me,” said the Cornal, rising and coming forward to clap the boy on the head for the very first time. “I think we can guess the rest of the story. Can we not guess the rest of the story, Dugald?”
The General sat bewildered, the only one out of the secret, into which Miss Mary’s whisper to the Cornal has not brought him.
“I am not good at guessing,” said he; “a man at my time likes everything straight forward.” And there was a little irritation in his tone.
“It’s only this, Dugald,” said his brother, “that here’s a pluckier young fellow than we thought, and good prospects yet for a soger in the family. I never gave Jock credit for discretion, but, faith, he seems to have gone with a keen eye to the market for once in his life! If it was not for Gilian here, Turner was wanting a daughter this day; we could hardly have hit on a finer revenge.”
“Revenge!” said the General, a flash jumping to his eyes, then dying away. “I would not have said that, Colin; I would not have said that. It is the phrase of a rough, quarrelsome young soldier, and we are elders who should be long by with it.”
“Anyhow,” said the Cornal, “here’s the makings of a hero.” And he beamed almost with affection on Gilian, now in a stupor at the complexity his day’s doings had brought him to.
The Paymaster’s rattan sounded on the stair, and “Here’s John,” said his sister. “He’ll be very pleased, I’m sure.”
It was anything but a pleased man who entered the room, his face puffed and red and his eyes searching around for his boy. He pointed a shaking finger at him.
“What, in God’s name, do you mean by this?” he asked vaguely.
“Don’t speak to the boy in that fashion,” said the Cornal in a surprising new paternal key. “If he has been in mischief he has got out of it by a touch of the valiant—”