Dick woke up the next morning with the words at the end of the last chapter seeming to ring in his ears, just as if he had spoken them aloud.

There was early parade that morning, and some dashing evolutions were performed with wonderful accuracy, for his share in which Dick received some friendly words of praise from the captain.

“You promise to be a smart officer some day, Darrell,” he said. “Keep at it, and you’ll do.”

At another time the young officer would have gone in to his morning meal with an extra flush upon his cheeks—one not caused by the sun; but the praise fell upon almost deaf ears on this occasion, for Dick had gone through everything quite mechanically, his mind being occupied with the trouble that was to come off, and the thought that, even if Sir George Hemsworth was the general in command of the forces in that district, he was still his father’s old school-fellow and friend.

“He can only bully me,” thought Dick. “I’ll risk it, come what may.”

“Anything the matter, old fellow?” said Wyatt over breakfast. “Not ill, are you?”

“Oh, no: bit hot and tired.”

“Go and lie down after breakfast. Get flat on your back. Takes the ache out of it splendidly. Wonderfully restful.”

Half-an-hour later Wyatt growled to himself as he caught sight of Dick crossing the parade-ground in the hot sun.

“Ugh! you obstinate young cub! What’s the use of my trying to play father to you if you don’t take my advice, eh? Now, where’s he going? He can’t want a walk. Why, he’s going to the general’s quarters. What does he want there?”

Wyatt sat thinking for a few minutes.

“Of course! I forgot. Knew the boy’s father. Old man don’t take much notice of him, though. Perhaps it’s all right. Favouritism’s bad, and George is just; I will say that. Sent for him, perhaps. Didn’t tell me.”

But Dick had no such thing to tell his friend, while he shrank from telling what he could have told, feeling perfectly sure that Wyatt would have tried to veto it.

Dick had, after screwing himself up to the sticking-point, gone straight across to the general’s, interviewed the aide-de-camp on duty, sent in his card, and the officer came out to say Sir George would see him as soon as he had finished a letter.

The letter must have been a very brief one, for before the aide-de-camp and the visitor had got half into an account of the slaying of a wild boar with spears the general’s bell was heard.

“That’s for you, Mr Darrell,” said the staff officer, “entrez!”

Dick went in, and the keen-eyed, grey-haired gentleman in white, seated at his writing-table, rose and shook hands.

“How are you, Richard Darrell?” he said. “You are growing much like what your father was as a boy. Hah!”

He paused for a few moments, looking at the young man thoughtfully. Then he was the stern, businesslike officer again.

“Now, Mr Darrell,” he said gravely, “you wished to see me on particular business. As few words as you can, please, for I am much occupied over despatches from up the country. What is it—a petition?”

“Yes, Sir George,” said Dick, speaking with military precision; “I have come to beg that Private Robert Hanson of my troop may not be flogged.”

The general frowned, and stood looking at the young officer sternly; but Dick’s eyes did not for a moment blench.

“This is a strange application, Mr Darrell,” said the general sternly—“an extremely young subaltern applying to me, his general officer, to alter the sentence pronounced, after a proper trial, upon a man who for a long period has gone on breaking the regulations of the service. It is a most unheard-of proceeding on the part of a young officer.”

“Yes, sir,” said Dick: “I feel that. I know it is, but I do not come to you as the general in command, but as my father’s old school-fellow and friend.”

“Your father’s old school-fellow and friend has nothing to do with the matter, sir,” replied Sir George sternly. “It is the officer in command here who has signed and approved of the sentence. Young man, I never allow friendship to bias my duty to the Government who have trusted me.”

“Of course not, Sir George.”

“Then why did you come to me as your father’s friend?”

“Because I was young and ignorant, Sir George, I suppose, and in my eagerness to save that poor fellow.”

“Exactly. You are young and impulsive, sir. This is not at all correct.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir George. I have done wrong in the way I came,” said Dick earnestly. “Let me come to you, then, as my officer whom I wish to obey.”

“But this is not in proper form, Mr Darrell. You should have written.”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“Well, as you are here, tell me what induces you to come and plead for this poor fellow, as you call him.”

“Because I have seen so much of him in the short time I have been with the troop, Sir George. He is such an excellent soldier—one of the smartest men we have.”

“All that has been taken into consideration, Mr Darrell, again and again, and taken in extenuation of some of his failings; but he has gone too far now. The man is a thorough wastrel.”

“But I think there is some good in the man, Sir George.”

The general shrugged his shoulders.

“You must have microscopic eyes, Mr Darrell. His officers, who have had long experience of the man, have failed to discover it.”

“He has behaved very bravely in action, sir.”

“Yes; I am told so. But cannot you see, Mr Darrell, the necessity for preserving the character of your corps—how it must be kept in the highest state of discipline?”

“Yes, Sir George, of course; but—I don’t know how it is—I have felt attracted by this man. He is a gentleman, evidently, by birth and education.”

“Have you become at all intimate with him, Mr Darrell?” said the general sharply.

“Oh, no, Sir George; I have never spoken to him except to give orders.”

“Has he written to you begging you to help him?”

“No, Sir George. It is because it is so sad for a man like that to sink so low as to suffer such a horribly degrading punishment.”

“I am glad it is that, Mr Darrell,” said the general coldly. “Then I am to presume that you take great interest in the men of your troop?”

“Oh, yes, sir!” cried Dick earnestly.

“And that you would put in a petition for any other man who was in a similar trouble?”

“I think I should, sir.”

“Well, Mr Darrell, this is a very disorderly proceeding on your part, but I feel that it is through a certain natural enthusiasm in a young man, who has certainly distinguished himself since he has been out here by his sterling endeavours to make himself an energetic officer, and, therefore, I feel disposed to try and meet you in this matter.”

“Oh, Sir George!”

“Silence!”

Dick drew himself up to attention, and the general went on.

“I may tell you, Mr Darrell, that I signed this man’s sentence with extreme reluctance, and it was not until everything had been tried that these extreme measures were decided on; but we cannot have the force disgraced. To be brief, I will leave this matter in your hands. If you can bring me this man’s word as a soldier that he will from this time forward begin earnestly to amend, I will let him off the degrading portion of his sentence.”

“Oh, Sir George!” began Dick excitedly.

“That will do, Mr Darrell. See the man, and come back to me at once. I am very busy: good-morning.”

Dick saluted, and turned to the door at once.

“One moment, Mr Darrell,” said the general, bending down to write. “Knowing what I do of the man from old reports. I do not think you will succeed. If your kindly effort does not bear fruit you need not return. Here is a pass to the man’s cell.”

Sir George gave the young man a short nod, and took his place at his writing-table; while Dick hurried off to the cells, anxious lest he should encounter his brother-officers, who would question him about his proceedings.

A few minutes later the cell door was being unlocked, and he stepped into the gloomy place where Hanson was seated upon a bench, nursing his injured ankle, with the light streaming down upon him from the little barred window.

The man stirred slowly as the door was closed behind his visitor.

“Well, is it time?” he said in a low growl.

“For your punishment? No; not yet.”

“You, Mr Darrell?” said the man wonderingly as he started up.

“Yes, Hanson; I’ve come to see you about this terrible punishment.”

“Terrible? Bah! It has been coming a long time. I’m sick of it all, and want to wind up. Let them flog me. I suppose they will now?”

“Yes; I believe the sentence is to be carried out to-morrow morning, Hanson.”

“A good job, too. Let them flog me, and as soon as I get about again I’ll shoot the general, and they may hang me out of my misery.”

“I came to talk to you quietly, Hanson, not to listen to mad words like those.”

“Mad men say mad things.”

“But you’re not mad,” said Dick quietly. “What you say is folly.”

“Is it?” cried the man desperately. “Wait and you’ll see.”

“I shall never see that. But we’re wasting time.”

“Why did you come here—sir? There, I suppose I must say ‘sir’ to you—boy.”

“Speak naturally while I am here, Hanson. Yes, I am a boy yet; but you were a boy once.”

The man started slightly.

“Yes,” he said mockingly, “I was a boy once.”

“And very different then.”

“Look here, sir,” cried the man, “if you’ve come to preach, you may save yourself the trouble.”

“I’ve not come to preach, Hanson,” said Dick quietly, “and I have no wish to hurt your feelings by asking you how it was you went all wrong as you did; but isn’t it time all this came to an end?”

“Yes; and it’s coming to an end, and pretty soon, too, if they flog me.”

“They will, Hanson, for certain now, and I have come because I would do anything sooner than see it.”

“What is it to you?”

“Something horrible to see a man of your birth and education—a gentleman—flogged.”

“Hold your tongue!” roared the man fiercely, and the sentry unlocked the door quickly and threw it open.

“Shut that door,” said Dick quietly to the sentry; “there is nothing the matter.”

The man obeyed, and the occupants of the cell stood facing each other for some moments, the prisoner breathing hard, and the visitor struggling hard mentally to acquit himself of what was a very difficult task.

“That will do, my lad,” said Hanson at last. “You mean well; you’ve always behaved well to me, but you are doing no good. You don’t know, and you couldn’t understand. I suppose you have been sent.”

“No; I obtained leave to see you, and I have come just as I would to see any man of the troop who had been hurt.”

“Ah, you’re young,” said the man hoarsely.

“So are you, Hanson,” said Dick quickly. “You can’t be above six or seven and twenty.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed the prisoner; “why, I feel seventy, and want to get to the end of the miserable business. I’ve tried times enough to get killed.”

“Yes! We heard how brave you are in action.”

“Brave!” cried the man mockingly. “Bah!”

“Look here, Hanson,” said Dick gently, “you called me a boy just now.”

“So you are. A fine fellow to set over seasoned men!”

Dick winced, but went on quietly: “You can’t be more than ten years older than I am. Isn’t it time to turn over a new leaf?”

“There’s only one left in my book,” said the man scornfully, “and that has ‘finis’ printed at the bottom.”

“Nonsense, Hanson! Come, turn it over. Don’t let’s have this horrible, degrading scene, with you, one of the smartest soldiers in the troop, the principal actor.”

“Smartest soldiers in the troop! Humbug! The biggest black,” cried the man scornfully.

“Both true,” said Dick.

“Who said that?”

“Every one says it. I’ve heard the captain and Mr Wyatt say it a score of times. Old Stubbs, too.”

“Then you’ve been sticking up for me?”

“In some things—yes. Why, it was only yesterday Captain Hulton said there was not a finer soldier in the troop. Yes; and he said it went against his grain to see a brave man treated like a dog, but that discipline must be preserved for every one’s sake.”

“Ah, it’s all too late—too late, sir.”

“Nonsense, Hanson! It’s never too late to mend.”

“Yes, it is, sir, when the stuff’s all rotten. I’ve gone to the bad, and I’m done for, and the sooner I’m hung and out of my misery the better.”

“You think so now because you’re sentenced to be flogged.”

“Yes; and that’s the last straw.”

“I say, Hanson, weren’t you once a gentleman? Tell me.”

“Silence!” cried the man fiercely, and the sentry once more came to the door.

“Nothing: all right.”

“Don’t you ever speak to me again like that,” said the man in a hoarse whisper.

“Very well, I will not: but I know now, and I shall think as much as I like.”

“There, go now, sir, before I get mad.”

“No: you will not hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. You respect me too much.”

“It’s a lie. I hate you for your youth and good looks and luck, and the way in which other people spoil you, boy.”

“Nonsense! You do like me, and if we were in action you’d do anything to save me from being hurt.”

The man uttered a low growl like some savage animal, but his dark eyes softened, and he turned away his face from the light which streamed in through the bars as Dick went on:

“The natural result of knowing that is that I’ve got to like you.”

The man gazed at him mockingly.

“What!” he cried. “You, an officer, and I the most blackguardly private in the troop?”

“I meant as a brave man and a good soldier, and it hurts me to see such a one as you going to the dogs.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about this morning, boy,” said Hanson bitterly.

“Boy? I am your officer, Private Hanson.”

“Yes, sir, I was forgetting myself; and I shall forget myself more if you stay, so please go.”

“That’s what I want you to do,” said Dick earnestly.

“I want you to forget what you are now, and be what you used to be.”

The prisoner drew his breath hardly, as if he were in pain.

“I want to be a friend to you as much as I, an officer, can be to one of our men.”

“Look here, sir; you were sent here to me this morning by the captain?”

“He does not know I have come, Hanson.”

“What! Look here, is that true?”

“Don’t insult me by asking such a question, sir,” said the lad, flushing. “I had to beg for permission to come. I tell you it hurt me horribly when I knew you were sentenced.”

“Yes, the brutes—the cowards!”

“No. They were your judges, and you had done things which deserved punishment. They said if it had not been that you were such a brave soldier, the court would have sentenced you to be drummed out of the regiment as a disgrace.”

“Let them do it!” growled the man.

“I thought about it a great deal, and then I went to the general and begged him to let you off.”

“Didn’t he threaten to kick you out of his quarters for an insolent young puppy?” said the man mockingly.

Dick winced, but mastered his anger.

“No; he looked astonished at first, and then he behaved to me like a gentleman, as I want you to behave to me, Hanson. You can if you like.”

“Yes, I can, my lad, and I—no, no; be off, and leave me. Let them flog me, and that will be the end of it. I’m too great a coward to shoot myself.”

“No, you are not,” said Dick quietly. “You’ve got pluck enough to do anything but be a coward. You haven’t pluck enough for that.”

“What! Is it to be a coward to make an end of one’s self?”

“You know that as well as I do. Now, understand this once for all. I came here entirely through my own efforts. No one prompted me; no one helped me. I’ve tried to do my duty since I’ve been a soldier, and it seemed to be the right thing to go and ask the general to let you off that degrading punishment. So I went, and, as I told you, he was surprised, but he was not angry; and he finished by saying that if you would give your word as a soldier that you would turn over a new leaf, he’d look over the past, and give you another chance by cancelling the sentence of flogging.”

The man’s face grew hard and drawn, and it was as if the little weak good left in him was making a desperate struggle against the bad and being crushed, when Dick took a step forward.

“Promise me, Hanson,” he said; “don’t let’s have our troop degraded before the people by one of ours being flogged.”

“I can’t promise, boy; I can’t,” groaned the prisoner desperately. “I’ve gone too far.”

“For the sake of the good old past, Hanson.”

“Do you want to drive me mad, boy?” roared the man fiercely.

“No. You know that,” cried Dick. “There, look here; fate has made me your officer, boy as I am, and you one of my men.”

“Yes, that’s it,” said the man bitterly, and he sat lower, with his fingers clutching at the flesh of his bare breast through his open shirt.

“I ask you, then, as one gentleman might ask another—promise me Robert Hanson, that you’ll make a brave effort to start afresh.”

The man sprang from his sent and stood with every nerve quivering gazing from the hand Dick had held out to him to the lad’s face and back. Then, with a gasp that was almost a groan, he seized Dick’s fingers and held them in a tremendous grip for a few moments.

“I promise,” he said hoarsely. “It’s like one coming to snatch a man back when he was sinking for evermore.”

The tramp, tramp of the sentry was heard outside, but there was a dead silence in the cell, as those two stood there with the bright light streaming in through the iron bars, till the prisoner let fall the hand he had grasped, and turned sharply round, to stand with his back to his officer.

“Go now, Mr Darrell, please,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“Yes, I’ll go now,” said Dick softly, and he took a step forward to lay his hand upon the prisoner’s shoulder. “All this is between us. No one will ever know from me what has been said here.”

Dick turned and rapped at the door, which was opened at once, and he passed through, hearing the clang and rattle of the lock and bolts as he strode away, making for the general’s quarters, hurrying his steps as he saw a syce holding a horse at the foot of the steps.

He was none too soon, for before he was across the great parade-ground the general came out and mounted, fortunately for Dick, turning his horse and moving in the direction which brought them face to face.

“Ah, Mr Darrell!” he said, reining up; “want to see me?”

“Yes, Sir George. I’ve just come from the prisoner’s cell.”

“Well?”

“He promises, Sir George.”

“Indeed? But will he keep his word?”

“Yes, Sir George; I’ll answer for him.”

“You are a foolish, sanguine boy,” said the general, smiling; “but we’ll see.—Come with me.”

He turned the horse’s head and walked him back to the door of his quarters, where he alighted and threw the reins to an orderly. Then, leading the way back to his room, he removed his glove and sat down at the writing-table, where his pen ran rapidly over a sheet of paper.

“There,” he said when he had blotted and folded it; “I am not young and sanguine like you, Mr Darrell, but I am glad to have the opportunity of stopping the degrading exhibition we were about to have; and let me say, too, equally glad to oblige a young officer whose career I have been noticing ever since he joined.”

Dick reddened, and faltered a few words.

“That will do,” said the general, nodding pleasantly; “but recollect this—you have undertaken an onerous task. You promised me to be answerable for this man.”

“I did, Sir George, and I honestly believe I can.”

“Of course you do. Well, I shall watch the progress of your efforts—mind that. There, I have work on hand. Take your letter to Captain Hulton. I have given your protÉgÉ a clean slate, so that he may start free, and I shall expect you to turn him from the brute he has been into a credit to his troop.”

“A clean slate, Sir George!” stammered the lad. “Will he have no punishment to undergo?”

“No, Mr Darrell; as a soldier I never do anything by halves.”

He walked to the door, mounted, and rode away, leaving Dick half-suffocated, for he had succeeded beyond his wildest hopes.

“Oh,” he cried to himself as he hurried off with his letter, “if Hanson will only mend!”