Part 55 (2/2)

When Fred came to himself, he was no longer lying upon straw, but upon a comfortable bed, in a clean, white-washed room. It was evening, for the sun seemed to be low, and sending a ruddy glow through the open window.

For a time he felt puzzled, and wondered why he was there; and as he tried to collect his thoughts, and the memory of the fight which he had heard came back, it seemed as if it was all a dream.

But no; that was no dream. Tramp--tramp! tramp--tramp!--the heavy march of an armed man. It was a sentinel going to and fro beneath the window sure enough; for the footsteps sounded faint, grew gradually louder, as if pa.s.sing close to the window, became gradually fainter, and then grew louder once more, and this over and over again.

At the same time that he was listening to this, he became aware of a peculiar scratching noise close by, but until in his heavy drowsy state he had settled in his own mind that it was a sentinel, he could not pay any heed to the scratching.

By degrees he recognised the sound as being that of a pen, and knew that some one was writing, and just as he had arrived at this conclusion, there was the faint sc.r.a.pe of a chair, a clinking noise such as might be made by the hilt of a sword against a breastplate, and directly after a sun-browned, anxious face was gazing earnestly into his.

”Father!” whispered Fred, feebly.

”My dear boy! Thank Heaven!”

The first sentence was uttered aloud--the second breathed softly.

”How is it with you, Fred?”

”Bad, father, bad,” he murmured. ”I seem to have no strength left, and--and--and--oh, father,” he gasped, as he clung to the hand which took his, ”I did--indeed, I did my best.”

”Why, Fred, my boy, Fred. Don't--don't take it so seriously as that.

You were overpowered and wounded.”

”Yes, father, but you trusted me with the prisoners, and I allowed myself to be out-manoeuvred, and I have disgraced myself.”

”What! How?”

”And I did try so hard to do my duty. I wish now I had been killed.”

”Fred! My son!”

”Don't be angry with me now I am so weak.”

”Yes, too weak, my dear boy,” said Colonel Forrester, as he knelt down by the bedside, and pa.s.sed his arm beneath the lad's neck as he kissed his forehead, ”too weak to talk about all this. Be silent and listen to me.”

Fred answered by a look.

”You think you have disgraced yourself by letting your enemies out-manoeuvre you, and with the prisoners turn the table on your little escort?”

Fred gave another pitiful look.

”That you have disgraced yourself for ever as a young officer?”

”Yes,” whispered the wounded lad.

”And that I, your father and your colonel, am angry for what you look upon as a lapse?”

Fred tried to bow his head, but failed.

<script>