"I will gladly do so," I answered.
"And I will go, too," said Guinea.
We took a lantern, but the night was so dark that we went round by the road, rather than over the meadows. Millie said that she scarcely remembered how she had come, but she thought that she had run the most of the way. And over and over as we walked along she repeated: "I'm awfully sorry."
As we came out of the woods, where the road bent in toward the big gate, we saw a light burning in the library. Millie stopped suddenly and clutched my arm. "Suppose he won't let me come back?" she said. "I don't know in what sort of a humor I may find him. Mr. Hawes, you go on and see him first, please?"
"And I will wait out here," Guinea spoke up, and her voice trembled. "Of course, I can't go into the house after what has happened. Nobody must know that I am here."
I left them standing in the dark, and when I stepped upon the porch I heard some one walking heavily and slowly up and down the library. On the door was a brass knocker, and when I raised it and let it fall, the foot-steps came hastily to the door. A hanging lamp was burning in the hall, and I saw that the old General himself had opened the door.
"Oh, it's you Mr. Hawes. I couldn't tell at first. My old eyes are getting flat, sir. Step into the library."
"No, I thank you. I have but a moment to stay."
"Step in, sir," he insisted, almost commanded, and I obeyed. Chyd was under a lamp, reading a sheep-skin covered book. He looked up as I entered, nodded, and then resumed his reading.
"Sit down," said the General.