"WHAT DID HE SAY?"
Frank threw himself into a chair, and Andrew Forbes began to walk up and
down like a newly caged wild beast.
Frank thought of the last time he was in that room, and of Captain
Murray's advice to him; then of the quarrel, and his companion's mad
words against his father. From that, with a bound, his thoughts went to
his mother. What would she think when she heard--as she would surely
hear in a few minutes--about the encounter?
He felt ready to groan in his misery, for the trouble seemed to have
suddenly increased.
Andrew did not speak or even glance at him; and fully a quarter of an
hour passed before Frank had decided as to the course he ought to
pursue. Once he had made up his mind he acted, and, rising from his
chair, he waited until his fellow-prisoner was coming toward him in his
wearisome walk, and held out his hand.
"Will you shake hands, Drew?" he said.
The lad stopped on the instant, and his face lit up with eagerness.
"Yes," he cried, "if you'll stand by me like a man."
"What do you mean?"
"Escape with me. Get out of the window as soon as it is dark, and make
a dash for it. Let them fire; they would not hit us in the dark, and we
could soon reach the friends and be safe."
"Run away and join your friends?" said Frank quietly.
"Yes! We should be placed in the army at once, as soon as they knew who
we were. Come, you repent of what you said, and you will be faithful to
the cause?"
"Won't you shake hands without that?"
"No, I cannot. I am ready to forgive everything you said or did to me;
but I cannot forgive such an act as desertion in the hour of England's
great need. Shake hands."
"Can't," said Frank sadly; and he thrust his hands into his pockets,
walked to the window, and stood looking out into the courtyard.
No word was spoken for some time, and no sound broke the stillness that
seemed to have fallen upon the place, save an occasional weary yawn from
the soldier stationed outside the door and the tramp of the nearest
sentry, while Andrew very silently still imitated the action of a newly
caged wild animal. At last he stopped suddenly.
"Have you thought that over?" he said.
"No," replied Frank. "Doesn't want thinking over. My mind was made up
before."
"And you will take the consequences?"
"Hang the consequences!" cried Frank angrily. "What is your rightful
monarch, or your pretender, or whatever he is, to me? I don't
understand your politics, and I don't want to. I've only one thing to
think about. My father told me that, as far as I could, I was to stand
by and watch over my mother in his absence, and I wouldn't forsake my
post for all the kings and queens in the world; so there!"
"Then I suppose if I try to escape you will give the alarm and betray
me?"
"I don't care what you suppose. But I shouldn't be such a sneak. I
wish you would go, and not bother me. You've no business here, and it
would be better if you were away; but I don't suppose you will do much
good if you do go."
"Oh!" ejaculated Andrew, as if letting off so much indignant steam; "and
this is friendship!"
"I don't care what you say now. Your ideas are wider and bigger than
mine, I suppose. I'm a more common sort of fellow, with only room in my
head to think about what I've been taught and told to do. Perhaps
you're right, but I don't see it."
"I can't give you up without one more try," said Andrew, standing before
him with his brow all in lines. "You say your father told you to stay
and watch over your mother?"
"Yes; and I will."
"But since then he has changed his opinions; he is on our side now, and
I cannot but think that he would wish you to try and strike one blow for
his--Bah!"
Andrew turned away in bitter contempt and rage, for strong in his
determination not to be stung into a fresh quarrel, the boy he
addressed, as soon as he heard his companion begin to reiterate his
assertion that Sir Robert Gowan had gone over to the Pretender's side,
turned slowly away, and, with his elbows once more resting on the
window-sill, thrust a finger into each ear, and stopped them tight. So
effectually was this done, that he started round angrily on feeling a
hand laid upon his shoulder.
"It's of no use, Drew, I won't--Oh, it's you, Captain Murray!"
"Yes, my lad. Has he been saying things you don't like?"
Frank nodded.
"Well, that's one way of showing you don't want to listen. Your mother
wishes to see you, and you can go to her."
"Ah!" cried the boy eagerly.
"Give me your word as a gentleman that you will go to her and return at
once, and I will let you cross to Lady Gowan's apartments without an
escort."
"Escort, sir?" said Frank wonderingly.
"Well, without a corporal and a file of men as guard."
"Oh, of course I'll come back," said the boy, smiling. "I'm not going
to run away."
"Go, then, at once."
Captain Murray walked with him to the door, made a sign to the sentry,
who drew back to stand at attention, and the boy began to descend.
"How long may I stay, sir?" he asked.
"As long as Lady Gowan wishes; but be back before dark."
"Poor old Drew!" thought Frank, as he hurried across to the courtyard
upon which his mother's apartments opened; "it's a deal worse for him
than it is for me. But he's half mad with his rightful-king ideas, and
ready to say or do anything to help them on. But to say such a thing as
that about my father! Oh!"
He was ushered at once into his mother's presence, but she did not hear
the door open or close; and as she lay on a couch, with her head turned
so that her face was buried in her hands, he thought she was asleep.
"Mother," he said softly, as he bent over her.
Lady Gowan sprang up at once; but instead of holding out her arms to him
as he was about to drop on his knees before her, her wet eyes flashed
angrily, and she spoke in a voice full of bitter reproach.
"I have just heard from the Princess that my son, whom I trusted in
these troublous times to be my stay and help, has been brawling
disgracefully during his duties at the court."
"Brawling disgracefully" made the boy wince, and a curious, stubborn
look began to cloud his face.
"Her Royal Highness tells me that you actually so far forgot yourself as
to draw upon young Forbes, that you were half mad with passion, and that
some terrible mischief would have happened if the Prince, who heard the
clashing from his room of audience, had not rushed in, and at great risk
to himself beaten down the swords. That is what I have been told, and
that you are both placed under arrest. Is it all true?"
"Yes, mother," said the lad bluntly; and he set his teeth for the
encounter that was to come.
"Is this the conduct I ought to expect from my son, after all my care
and teaching--to let his lowest passions get the better of him, so that,
but for the interference of the Prince, he might have stained his sword
with the blood of the youth he calls his friend?"
"It might have been the other way, mother," said the boy bluntly.
"Yes; and had you so little love, so little respect for your mother's
feelings, that you could risk such a thing? I have been prostrated
enough by what has happened. Suppose, instead, the news had been
brought to me that in a senseless brawl my son had been badly wounded--
or slain?"
"Senseless brawl" made the boy wince again.
"It would have been very horrible, mother," he said, in a low voice.
"It would have killed me. Why was it? What was the cause?"
"Oh, it was an affair of honour, mother," said Frank evasively.
"An affair of honour!" cried Lady Gowan scornfully; "a boy like you
daring to speak to me like that! Honour, sir! Where is the honour? It
comes of boys like you two, little better than children, being allowed
to carry weapons. Do you not know that it is an honour to a gentleman
to wear a sword, because it is supposed that he would be the last to
draw it, save in some terrible emergency for his defence or to preserve
another's life, and not at the first hasty word spoken? Had you no
consideration for me? Could you not see how painful my position is at
the court, that you must give me this fresh trouble to bear?"
"Yes, mother; you know how I think of you. I couldn't help it."
"Shame! Could not help it! Is this the result of your education--you,
growing toward manhood--my son to tell me this unblushingly, to give me
this pitiful excuse--you could not help it? Why was it, sir?"
"Well, mother, we quarrelled. Drew is so hot-tempered and passionate."
"And you are perfectly innocent, and free from all such attributes, I
suppose, sir," cried Lady Gowan sarcastically.
"Oh no, I'm not, mother," said the lad bluntly, as he felt he would give
anything to get away. "I've got a nasty, passionate temper; but I'm all
right if it isn't roused and Drew will keep on till he rouses it."
"Pitiful! Worse and worse!" cried Lady Gowan. "All this arose, I
suppose, out of some contemptible piece of banter or teasing. He said
something to you, then, that you did not like?"
"Yes," said Frank eagerly, "that was it."
"And pray what did he say?"
"Say--oh--er--he said--oh, it was nothing much."
"Speak out--the truth, sir," cried Lady Gowan, fixing her eyes upon her
son's.
"Oh, he said--something I did not like, mother."
"What was it, sir? I insist upon knowing."
"Oh, it was nothing much."
"Let me be the judge of that, sir. I, as your mother, would be only too
glad to find that you had some little excuse for such conduct."
"And then," continued Frank hurriedly, "I got put out, and--and I called
him a liar."
"What was it he said?"
"And then he struck me over the face with his glove, mother, and I
couldn't stand that, and I hit out, and sent him staggering against the
wall."
"Why?--what for?" insisted Lady Gowan.
"And in a moment he whipped out his sword and attacked me, and of course
I had to draw, or he would have run me through."
"Is that true, sir--Andrew Forbes drew on you first?"
"Of course it's true, mother," said the lad proudly. "Did I ever tell
you a lie?"
"Never, my boy," said Lady Gowan firmly. "It has been my proud boast to
myself that I could trust my son in everything."
"Then why did you ask me in that doubting way if it was true?"
"Because my son is prevaricating with me, and speaking in a strange,
evasive way. He never spoke to me like that before. Do you think me
blind, Frank? Do you think that I, upon whom your tiny eyes first
opened--your mother, who has watched you with all a mother's love from
your birth, cannot read every change in your countenance? Do you think
I cannot see that you are fighting hard to keep something back?--you,
whom I have always been so proud to think were as frank by nature as you
are by name? Come, be honest with me. You are hiding something from
me?"
"Yes, mother," cried the lad, throwing back his head and speaking
defiantly now, "I am."
"Then tell me what it is at once. I am your mother, from whom nothing
should be hid. If the matter is one for which you feel shame, if it is
some wrong-doing, the more reason that you should come to me, my boy,
and confide in me, that I may take you once again to my heart, and kneel
with you, that we may together pray for forgiveness and the strength to
be given to save you from such another sin."
"Mother," cried the boy passionately, "I have not sinned in this!"
"Ah!--Then what is it?"
"I cannot tell you."
"Frank, if ever there was a time when mother and son should be firmly
tied in mutual confidence, it is now. I have no one to cling to but
you, and you hold me at a distance like this."
"Yes, yes; but I cannot tell you."
"You think so, my boy; but don't keep it from me."
"Mother," cried Frank wildly, "I must!"
"You shall not, my boy. I will know."
"I cannot tell you."
He held out his hands to her imploringly, but she drew back from him,
and her eyes seemed to draw the truth he strove so hard to keep hidden
from his unwilling lips.
"There, then!" he cried passionately; "I bore it as long as I could:
because he insulted my father--it was to defend his honour that I struck
him, and we fought."
"You drew to defend your father's honour," said Lady Gowan hoarsely; and
her face looked drawn and her lips white.
"Yes, that was it. Is it so childish of me to say that I could not help
that?"
"No," said Lady Gowan, in a painful whisper. "How did he insult your
father? What did he say?"
"Must I tell you?"
"Yes."
Frank drew a long, deep, sobbing breath, and his voice sounded broken
and strange, as he said in a low, passionate voice:
"He dared to insult my father--he said he was false to the King--that he
had broken his oath as a soldier--that he was a miserable rebel and
Jacobite, and had gone over to the Pretender's side."
"Oh!" ejaculated Lady Gowan, shrinking back into the corner of the
couch, and covering her face with her hands.
"Mother, forgive me!" cried the lad, throwing himself upon his knees,
and trying to draw her hands from her face. "I could not speak. It
seemed so horrible to have to tell you such a cruel slander as that. I
could not help it. I should have struck at anybody who said it, even if
it had been the Prince himself."
Lady Gowan let her son draw her hands from her white, drawn face, and
sat back gazing wildly in his eyes.
"Oh, mother!" he cried piteously, "can you think this a sin? Don't look
at me like that."
She uttered a passionate cry, clasped him to her breast, and let her
face sink upon his shoulder, sobbing painfully the while.
"I knew what pain it would give you, dear," he whispered, with his lips
to her ear; "but you made me tell you. I was obliged to fight him.
Father would have been ashamed of me, and called me a miserable coward,
if I had not stood up for him as I did."
"Then--then--he said that of your father?" faltered Lady Gowan, with her
convulsed face still hidden.
"Yes."
"And you denied it, Frank."
"Of course," cried the lad proudly; "and then we fought, and I did not
know what was happening till the Prince came and struck down our
swords."
Lady Gowan raised her piteous-looking face, pressed her son back from
her, and rose from the couch.
"Go now, my boy," she said, in a low, agonised voice.
"Back to prison?" he said. "But tell me first that you are not so angry
with me. I can't feel that I was so wrong."
"No, no, my boy--no, I cannot blame you," sighed Lady Gowan.
"And you forgive me, mother?"
"Forgive you? Oh, my own, true, brave lad, it is not your fault, but
that of these terrible times. Go now, I can bear no more."
"Say that once again," whispered Frank, clinging to her.
"I cannot speak, my darling. I am suffering more than I can tell you.
There, leave me, dearest. I want to be alone, to think and pray for
help in this terrible time of affliction. Frank, I am nearly
broken-hearted."
"And I have been the cause," he said sadly.
"You? Oh no, no, my own, brave, true boy. I never felt prouder of you
than I do now. Go back. I must think. Then I will see the Princess.
The Prince is not so very angry with you, and he will forgive you when
he knows the truth."
"And you, mother?"
"I?" cried the poor woman passionately. "Heaven help me! I do not feel
that I have anything to forgive."
Lady Gowan embraced her son once more, and stood looking after him as he
descended the stairs, while Frank walked over to his prison with head
erect and a flush of pride in his cheeks.
"There," he muttered, as he passed the sentry, "let them say or do what
they like; I don't care now."