ch other since we left Cheltenham?"

The sergeant stood looking after them with an air of interest till their
voices died away. Then he turned to his companion.

"Hullo, lad, what is the matter? Are you ill?"

"No, I am all right," Edgar said huskily.

"Nonsense! Your colour has all gone, and you are shaking like a leaf.
What! did you know any of those officers?"

"I knew them all once," Edgar said. "We were at school together. I did
not know that any of them were out here. I would not have them recognize
me for anything."

"Oh, that is it! I thought you must have run away from school; got into
some scrape, I suppose. Well, my lad, as you have made your bed you must
lie in it. But it is not likely that any of them would know you even if
they ran up against you. Two years' service under this sun changes a lad
of your age wonderfully. By the way, one of them called the other
Clinton; do you happen to know whether he is the son of a Captain
Clinton--Captain Percy Clinton?"

"Yes, he is."

"He was captain of my company when I was a young sergeant. Well, well,
time flies fast, to be sure. Do you know whether this young fellow has a
brother, and, if so, what he is doing?"

"No, he has no brother," Edgar said shortly.

"There were two of them," the sergeant said positively. "Perhaps one has
died. I wonder which it was," he muttered to himself.

"Do you know the story?" Edgar asked suddenly.

"Do I know the story!" the sergeant repeated slowly. "What story do you
mean?"

"The story of Captain Clinton's baby being confused with another."

"Oh, you know about that, do you?" Sergeant Bowen asked in turn. "So
they made no secret of it. Ay, lad, I know it; every man in the regiment
knew it. And good cause I had to know it, it was that that ruined me."

"Are you Sergeant Humphreys?" Edgar asked, putting his hand on the man's
shoulder.

The sergeant started in surprise.

"Why, lad, how come you to know all the ins and outs of that story? Ay,
I was Sergeant Humphreys, and for aught I know that young fellow who has
just passed, whom they call Clinton, is my son."

"No, he is not, sergeant; I am your son!"

The sergeant looked at the young trumpeter in bewilderment, then his
expression changed.

"You have got a touch of fever, lad. Come along with me to the hospital;
I will report you sick. The sooner you are out of the sun the better."

"I am as sensible as I ever was in my life," Edgar said quietly. "I was
br