There was no waiting for news now. Despatch succeeded despatch rapidly,
and the occupants of the Palace were made familiar with the proceedings
in the north; and as Frank heard more and more of the disastrous tidings
he was in agony, and at last announced to Captain Murray that he could
bear it all no longer.
"I must go and join my father," he said one day. "It is cruel and
cowardly to stay here in the midst of all this luxury and rejoicing,
while he is being dragged up to London like a criminal."
"Have you told Lady Gowan of your intentions?" said the captain quietly.
"Told her? No!" cried Frank excitedly. "Why, in her state it would
half kill her."
"And if you break away from here and go to join your father, it would
quite kill her."
Frank looked at him aghast, and the captain went on:
"We must practise common sense, Frank, and not act madly at a time like
this."
"Is it to act madly to go and help one's father in his great trouble?"
"No; you must help him, but in the best way."
"That is the best way," said the boy hotly.
"No. What would you do?"
"Go straight to him and try and make his lot more bearable. Think how
glad he would be to see me."
"Of course he would, and then he would blame you for leaving your
mother's side when she is sick and suffering."
"But this is such a terrible time of need. I must go to him; but I
wanted to be straightforward and tell you first."
"Good lad."
"Think what a terrible position mine is, Captain Murray."
"I do, boy, constantly; but I must, as your friend and your father's,
look at the position sensibly."
"Oh, you are so cold and calculating, when my father's life is at
stake."
"Yes. I don't want you to do anything that would injure him."
"I--injure him!"
"Yes, boy."
"But I only want to be by his side."
"Well, to do that you would run away from here, for the Prince would not
let you go."
"No, he will not. I asked him."
"You did?"
"Yes, two days ago."
"Then if you go without leave, you will make a good friend angry."
"Perhaps so; but I cannot stay away."
"You must, boy, for it would be injuring your father; and, look here, if
you went, you could not get near the prisoners. Those who have them in
charge would not let you pass."
"But I would get a permission from the King."
"Rubbish, boy! He would not listen to you. He might as a man be ready
to pardon your father; but as King he would feel that he could not. No;
I must speak plainly to you: his Majesty will deal sternly with the
prisoners, to make an example for his enemies, and show them the folly
of attempting to shake his position on the throne."
"Oh, Captain Murray! Captain Murray!" cried the boy.
"Look here, Frank lad. Your journey to meet the prisoners would be an
utter waste of energy, and you would most likely miss them, for to avoid
the possibility of attempts at rescue their escort would probably take
all kinds of byways and be constantly changing their route."
"But I should have tried to help my father, even if I failed."
"Don't run the risk of failure, boy," said the captain earnestly. "Our
only hopes lie in the Prince and Princess. The Prince would, I feel
sure, spare your father's life if he could, for the sake of his wife's
friend. But he is not king, only a subject like ourselves, and he will
be governed by his father and his father's Ministers. Now you see that
you must not alienate our only hope by doing rash things."
Frank looked at him in despair.
"Now do you see why I oppose you?"
"Yes, yes," said the boy despondently. "Oh, how I wish I were wise!"
"There is only one way to grow wise, Frank: learn--think and calculate
before you make a step. Now, look here, my boy. The Prince has plenty
of good points in his character. He likes you; and he shall be appealed
to through your mother and the Princess. Now, promise me that you will
do nothing rashly, and that you will give up this project."
"Should I be right in giving it up?"
"Yes," said the captain emphatically.
"But what will my father think? I shall seem to be forsaking him in his
great trouble."
"He will think you are doing your duty, and are trying hard to save his
life. Come, don't be down-hearted, for we are all at work. There is
our regiment to count upon yet--the King's own Guards, who will, to a
man, join in a prayer to his Majesty to spare the life of the most
popular officer in the corps."
"Ah! yes," cried Frank.
"I don't want even to hint at mutiny; but the King at a time like this
would think twice before refusing the prayer of the best regiment in his
service."
"Oh, Captain Murray!" cried the lad excitedly. "I will promise
everything. I will go by your advice."
"That's right, my lad; my head is a little older than yours, you know.
Now, go back to your duties, and let the Prince see that his page is
waiting hopefully and patiently to see how he will help him. Go to your
mother, too, all you can, and tell her, to cheer her up, that we are all
hard at work, and that no stone shall be left unturned to save Sir
Robert's life."
Frank caught the captain's hands in his, and stood holding them for a
few moments before hurrying out of the room.
Then more news came of each day's march, and of the slow approach of the
prisoners--the leaders only, the rest being imprisoned in Cheshire and
Lancashire to await their fate.
It was hard work, but Frank kept his word, trying to be more energetic
than ever over his duties, and finding that he was not passing
unnoticed, for every morning the Prince gave him a quiet look of
recognition, or a friendly nod, but never once spoke.
The most painful part of his life in those days was in his visits to his
mother. These were agony to him, feeling as he did more and more how
utterly insignificant and helpless he was; but he had one satisfaction
to keep him going and make him look forward longingly for the next
meeting--paradoxical as it may sound--so as to suffer more agony and
despair, for he could plainly see that his mother clung to him now as
her only stay, and that she was happiest when he was with her, and
begged and prayed of him to come back to her as soon as he possibly
could, now that she was so weak and ill.
"I believe, my darling," she whispered one evening, "that I should have
died if you had not been here."
"Yes, my lad," said the Princess's physician to him as well; "you must
be with Lady Gowan as much as you can. Her illness is mental, and you
can do more for her now than I can. Ha--ha! I shall have to resign my
post to you."
"Yes," said the boy to himself, "Captain Murray is quite right;" and he
went straight to his friend's quarters, as he often did, to give him an
account of his mother's state.
"Yes, sir," he said; "you were quite right: it would have killed her if
I had gone away."
"Come, you are beginning to believe in me, Frank. Now I have some news
for you."
"About Drew Forbes?" cried Frank eagerly.
"No; I have made all the inquiries I can, but I can hear nothing of the
poor fellow. His father is with yours; but the lad seems to have
dropped out of sight, and I have my fears."
"Oh, don't say that," cried Frank excitedly; "he was so young."
"Yes," said the captain grimly; "but in a fight young and old run equal
chances, while in the exposure and suffering of forced marches the young
and untried fare worse than the old and seasoned. Drew Forbes was a
weak, girlish fellow, all brain and no muscle. I am in hopes, though,
that he may have broken down, and be lying sick at some cottage or
farmhouse."
"Hopes!" cried Frank.
"Yes, he may get well with rest. Better than being well and strong, and
on his way to suffer by the rope or axe."
Frank shuddered.
"Now then," cried the captain sharply, to change the conversation; "you
found my advice good?"
"Yes, yes," said Frank.
"Then take some more. Look here, Frank; the doctor and I were talking
about you last night, and he is growing very anxious. He said the blade
was wearing out the scabbard, and that you were making an old man of
yourself."
"Not a young one yet," said the boy, smiling sadly.
"Never mind that. You'll grow old soon enough. He says what I think,
that you never go out, and that you will break down."
"Oh, absurd! I don't want exercise."
For answer the captain clapped him on the shoulder, and twisted him
round.
"Look at your white face in the glass, my boy. Don't risk illness. You
will want all your strength directly in the fight for life to come.
Your father will, in all probability, reach London to-morrow."
"Ah!" cried Frank excitedly.
"Yes; we had news this morning by the messenger who brought the royal
despatches. The colonel had a brief letter. Get leave to go out
to-morrow, and come with me."
"Yes, where?"
"We'll try and meet the escort, and see your father, even if we cannot
speak."
"Oh!" ejaculated Frank; and, utterly worn out with anxiety and want of
proper food, he reeled, a deathly feeling of sickness seized him, and
his eyes closed.
When he opened them again he was lying upon the captain's couch, with
his temples and hair wet, and he looked wonderingly in the face of his
father's friend.
"Better?"
"Yes; what is it? Oh my head! the room's going round."
"Drink," said the captain. "That's better. It will soon go off."
"But why did I turn like that?"
"From weakness, lad. Shall I send for the doctor?"
"No, no," cried Frank, struggling up into a sitting position. "I'm
better now. How stupid of me!"
"Nature telling you she has been neglected, my lad. You have not eaten
much lately?"
"I couldn't."
"Nor slept well?"
"Horribly. I could only lie and think."
"And you have not been outside the walls?"
"No; I have felt ashamed to be seen, and as if people would look at me
and say, `His father is one of the prisoners.'"
"All signs of weakness, as the doctor would say. Now you want to be
strong enough to go with me to-morrow--mounted?"
"Of course."
"Then try and do something to make yourself fit. I shouldn't perhaps be
able to catch you as I did just now if you fainted on horseback, and in
a London crowd; for we should be under the wing of the troops sent to
meet the prisoners coming in."
"I shall be all right, sir," said the boy firmly.
"Go and have a walk in the fresh air, then, now."
"Must I?" said Frank dismally.
"If you wish to go with me."
"Where shall I go, then?"
"Anywhere; go and have a turn in the Park."
"What, go and walk up and down there, where people may know me!"
"Yes, let them. Don't take any notice. Try and amuse yourself. Be a
boy again, or a man if you like, and do as Charles the Second used to
do: go and feed the ducks. Well, what's the matter? there's no harm in
feeding ducks, is there?"
"Oh no," said the boy confusedly; "I'll go;" and he hurried out.