“There are no words, Callandar. Words are nothing—but the last bit of my life has been the better for you.”
For once speech came quickly to the soldier.
“The rest of mine will be the better for you,” he answered. “You said once that you were not a true man. You lied.”
Flemington was giving all to disprove the accusation of untruth, and it was one of the last things he was to hear.
So, with these rough words—more precious to him than any that could have been spoken—sounding in his ears, he walked away and stood before the wall. The men were lined in front of him.
His eyes roved for a moment over the slope of the country, the town roofs, the camp, then went to the distance. A solitary bird was crossing the sky, and his look followed it as it had followed the one he had seen when he made his choice at the foot of Huntly Hill. The first had flown away, a vanishing speck, towards the shadows gathering about the hills. This one was going into the sunrise. It was lost in the light. . . .
“Fire!” said Callandar.
For Archie was looking at him with a smile.