“I know it’s a liberty,” said I.
“It’s infernally awkward: my position is infernally embarrassing,” said he.
“Well,” said I, “and what do you think of mine?”
This seemed to pose him entirely, and he remained gazing upon me with a convincing air of youth and innocence. I could have laughed, but I was not so inhumane.
“I am in your hands,” said I, with a little gesture. “You must do with me what you think right.”
“Ah, yes!” he cried: “if I knew!”
“You see,” said I, “it would be different if you had received your commission. Properly speaking, you are not yet a combatant; I have ceased to be one; and I think it arguable that we are just in the position of one ordinary gentleman to another, where friendship usually comes before the law. Observe, I only say arguable. For God’s sake, don’t think I wish to dictate an opinion. These are the sort of nasty little businesses, inseparable from war, which every gentleman must decide for himself. If I were in your place——”
“Ay, what would you do, then?” says he.
“Upon my word, I do not know,” said I. “Hesitate, as you are doing, I believe.”
“I will tell you,” he said. “I have a kinsman, and it is what he would think that I am thinking. It is General Graham of Lynedoch—Sir Thomas Graham. I scarcely know him, but I believe I admire him more than I do God.”