“But aren’t you angry?” said Ted.
“Angry—why?”
“Because I sent you over.”
“But you didn’t do it purposely.”
“No, that I didn’t,” said Ted, with all his might.
From that moment they were better friends than they had ever been before, though it was some time before Ted could really believe that Bevis was not angry about it. In fact, the idea had never entered Bevis’s mind. Ted stopped with them to supper, and everything was explained to Jack, who was delighted with the battle, and could not hear enough about it. But they did not press Ted as to what had become of him, seeing how confused he was whenever the subject was approached.
Quite beside himself with terror and misery, poor Ted had pretended illness and remained in his room, refusing to see any one, and dreading every footstep and every knock at the door, lest it should be the constable come to arrest him. Towards the afternoon Val, who had already been down to Bevis’s house and found he was all right, strolled up to see Pompey. Ted would not open the door even to him, and Val taunted him for being such a coward all that time after the battle. Still, Ted would not unlock it till Val happened to say that there was a row about the war, and Bevis had gone up to Jack’s. Open came the door directly.
“Where’s Bevis?” said Ted, grasping at Val’s arm.
“At Jack’s.”
“Not killed?”