"`Be at your father's house at four this afternoon, holding the door
ajar till I slip in,'" said Frank, repeating his old companion's words,
trembling with excitement the while, as he watched till the figure had
disappeared, when a feeling of resentment sent the hot blood to his
temples. "No. I will not go. It only means more trouble. Oh, how
much of it all is due to him!"
"No," he said a few minutes later. "That is unjust. He must have been
with the people who attempted the rescue last night. I will go. He is
brave and true, after all. Yes, it is to help again to save my father,
and I will be there."
It was like a fillip to him, and a few minutes after he rose, and went
back to the Palace, passing several officials whom he knew, all saluting
him in a kindly way, as if full of sympathy, but not attempting to
speak.
His goal was his mother's room, and to his surprise he found her
evidently anxiously expecting him, but very calm and resigned in her
manner.
"Frank dear," she said gently, "I feel as if it is almost heartless of
me to seem so, but I am better. I will not despair, my own boy, for I
feel so restful. It is as if something told me that our prayers would
be heard."
"And with him lying in irons in that dreadful gaol," thought Frank, with
a momentary feeling of resentment--momentary, for it passed away, and he
sat with her, telling her, at her urgent prayer, of all the proceedings
of the past night, as well as of his ill-success that morning.
He had prayed of her not to press him, but she insisted, and it was to
find that, in place of sending her into a fit of despondent weeping, she
spoke afterwards quite calmly.
"Yes," she said gently, as she raised his hand to her cheek and held it
there; "all these things are the plans of men, kings, and princes, with
their armies. But how insignificant it all seems compared with the
greatness of the Power which rules all. Frank dearest, we cannot--we
must not despair."
He looked at her wonderingly, and with his heart very sore; but somehow
she seemed to influence him, the future did not look quite so solidly
black as it had that morning, and he felt ready to tell her of his
encounter with Drew. But fearing to raise her hopes unduly on so
slender a basis he refrained, and stayed with her till the time was
approaching for his visit to the house across the Park. Then he left
her wondering at the feeling of lightness that came over him, and not
attributing it to the fact that he had something to do--something which
called his faculties into action to scheme and contrive the meeting
without being baffled by those who dogged the steps of every one about
the place.
Hope was inspiring him too again, and he refrained from going near
Captain Murray, setting quite at nought all thought of his duties at the
Palace, and waiting in his room watching the clock till he felt that it
was time to go.
He sat for a few moments longer, trying to come to a conclusion which
would be the better plan--to go carefully to the house after taking
every precaution against being seen, or to go boldly without once
looking back.
The latter was the plan he determined to adopt; but to throw dust in the
eyes of any watcher, he placed a couple of books under one arm, and
determined to bring three or four different ones back, so as to make it
appear that he had been to change some works in his father's library.
Whether any spy was upon his track or no he could not tell, for,
following out his plan, he went straight away to the house, thundered
loudly at the door, and dragged at the bell.
The old housekeeper admitted him with her old precautions, and eagerly
asked after her ladyship's health. Her next question, whether he had
heard from Sir Robert, convinced the lad that, living her quiet,
secluded life, she was in perfect ignorance of the stirring events of
the past two or three weeks, and he refrained from enlightening her.
"Now, Berry," he said, "go down and stay there till I call you up
again."
"Oh, my dear young master!" said the old woman, beginning to sob.
"Why, what's the matter, Berry?" he cried.
"Oh, my dear, my dear!" she sobbed, with her apron to her eyes; "it's
glad I am to see you when you come, but I do wish you'd stay away."
"Stay away! Why?"
"Because it only means fresh trouble whenever you come over here. I
don't care for myself a bit, my dear; but as soon as I see your bonny
face, I begin to quake, for I know it means spies and soldiers coming
after you and I expect to see you marched off to the Tower, and brought
back with your head chopped off and put up along with the traitors.
Don't do it, my dear; don't do it."
"Don't do what?" cried Frank impatiently.
"Don't go running dreadful risks, my dear, and meddling with such
matters. Let 'em have which king they like, and quarrel and fight about
it; but don't you have anything to do with it at all."
"And don't you try to interfere with matters you can't understand, you
dear old Berry," cried the lad, kissing her affectionately.
"Ah! that's like the dear little curly-headed boy who used to come and
kiss me, and ask me to melt lumps of sugar in the wax candle to make him
candy drops. I often think now, Master Frank, that you have forgotten
your poor old nurse. Ah! I remember when you had the measles so badly,
and your poor dear little face was red and dreadful--"
"Yes, yes, Berry; but I am so busy now. I expect some one to come."
"Not the soldiers, my dear?"
"No, no, no!"
"Nor those dreadful spies?"
"I hope not, Berry. You go down, please, at once, and wait till I call
you up."
"Yes, my dear, yes," said the woman sadly. "You're master now poor dear
Sir Robert is away. I'll go; but pray, pray be careful. It would kill
me, my dear."
"Kill you?" cried Frank. "What would?"
"I should--yes, I would do that!--I should crawl somehow as far as the
city to have one look at your poor dear head sticking on a spike, and
then I should creep down a side street, and lay my head on a doorstep,
and die."
"No, you shan't!" cried Frank, laughing in spite of his excitement, as
he hurried the weeping old woman to the top of the basement stairs.
"I'll come here properly, with my head upon my shoulders. There, there;
go down and wait. I don't think anything will happen to-day to frighten
you. Never mind; if any one comes I'll open the door."
"Oh, my dear, I can't let you do that," remonstrated the old woman.
"What would my lady say?"
"That old Berry was a dear, good, obedient housekeeper, who always did
what she was told."
"Ah!" sighed the old lady, with a piteous smile; "you always did coax
and get the better of me, Master Frank; and many's the time I've made
you ill by indulging you with pudding and cakes that you begged for.
Yes, I'll go down, my dear; but I'll come the moment you call or ring."
Frank stood watching her till she reached the foot of the stairs, and
then started and ran across the hall in his excitement, for a clock was
striking, and he had hardly let down the chain and unfastened the door
to hold it ajar, when there was a step outside, it was pushed open, and
Drew Forbes glided in, and thrust it to.
"Frank, old lad!" he cried excitedly, as the chain was replaced; and he
seized his companion by the shoulders, and shook him. "Oh, I am glad to
see you again."
"And I you," cried the lad, as full of excitement.
"Hah! these are queer times. I am fit to touch now. Did you ever see
such a miserable, dirty beggar as I was that day in the Park?"
"Don't talk about that, Drew," cried Frank; "come upstairs."
"Yes, we may as well sit down, for I'm nearly run off my legs. I say,
did you get hurt in the crowd?"
"A little," said Frank eagerly. "Were you there?"
Drew did not reply till they were in the room on the first floor looking
over the Park; and then he threw himself full length on one of the
couches, while Frank closed and locked the door.
"Not laziness, old lad--fagged, and must rest when I can. Was I there?
Of course I was. But oh, what a mess we made of it! Everything was
well thought out; but you were too strong for us. We should have got
them all away if they had not trapped us with the foot guards. Some
soldier must have planned it all. Our fellows fought like lions till
they began firing volleys and drove all before them with fixed bayonets.
Poor dear old Frank! I am sorry for you."
"And I'm as sorry for you," said the boy sadly, as he pressed the thin,
white, girlish hand which held his.
"Sorry for me?" said Drew sharply. "I'm all right."
"Then your father was not one of the prisoners?" said Frank eagerly.
"Not with them? Didn't you see him there?"
"No; I only saw that two other gentlemen were in the carriage with my
father. I only had eyes for him."
"That's natural enough," said Drew; "I hardly saw your father till we
got them all out of the carriages, chained hand and foot. Oh, what
miserable, cowardly tyranny! Gentlemen, prisoners of war, treated like
thieves and murderers! Poor fellows! they could do nothing to help
themselves."
"But you rescued one," said Frank. "Is he safe?"
"Safe as safe," cried Drew joyously.
"Ah!" said Frank with a sigh, "you are very loyal to your Prince."
"I don't know so much about that, old lad. He does not turn out well."
"Not grateful to you all for saving him, while the others were
recaptured and cast in gaol!" Drew sat up suddenly.
"I say, what are you talking about?" he cried. "About your rescuing and
carrying off the Prince to safety."
"Nonsense! He was safe enough before. Didn't I say he does not turn
out well?"
"Yes; but you rescued him last night: I heard it at the Palace this
morning."
"Stuff! He kept himself safe enough over the water without showing his
face."
"Then who was it you saved?"
"Who was it? Why, my dear old dad, of course. We nearly lost him, for
a great tall Guardsman had got hold of him by the fetter ring round his
waist, only I made him let go. I hope I haven't killed him, Frank,"
added the lad between his teeth; "but I had a sword in my hand--and I
used it."
"Oh, I am glad you have saved your father, Drew."
"And I am sorry we did not save yours, Frank. Perhaps if you had been
helping us you might have done as I did, and he too might have been
where your King's people couldn't touch him.
"There, I did not mean to say that," continued Drew, after a short
pause. "It isn't kind and straight to you. I won't reproach you,
Franky; for I can't help feeling that you are, as father says, the soul
of honour. He said I was to tell you how proud he felt that you were my
best friend--we are friends still, Frank?"
"Of course."
"But I have said some nasty things to you, old lad."
"I can't remember things like that," said Frank sadly; "only that when
you did not talk of the other side we were very jolly together."
"And I couldn't help it," said Drew earnestly.
"I know it."
"Well, I didn't come here to talk about that."
"No, it's all past. Let's talk about the future."
"Yes; how's dear Lady Gowan?"
"How can she be, Drew?" said Frank wearily.
The tears started to Drew's eyes, which filled, as he caught his
friend's hands in his, and the next moment the big drops began trickling
down.
"There," he said quietly, "I'm crying like a great girl. I can't help
it when I think about her. I always was a weak, passionate, hysterical
sort of fellow, Frank, and I'm worse than ever now with all this strain.
But you tell her when you go back that there are some thousands of good
men and true now in London who will not stop till they have saved dear
Sir Robert, and the other brave leaders who are shut up in that wretched
prison."
"Ah!" sighed Frank; "if they only could!"
"But we will," cried Drew excitedly.
"Well, your father is safe," said Frank bitterly. "I suppose he will
leave the country now?"
"What, and forsake his friends?" cried Drew proudly. "You don't know my
father yet. No; he says he will not stir till your father is safe; and
we'll have them out yet, if we have to burn the prison first."
Frank looked at him wildly.
"But there are more ways of killing a cat than hanging it, lad,"
continued Drew with a laugh, as he dashed away the last of his
hysterical tears. "I look a nice sort of a hero, don't I? But I came
to tell you not to be down-hearted, for there are plenty of brains at
work."
"And I must help!" cried Frank excitedly.
"No; you leave it to the older heads. I should like to help too; but my
father says that I am to leave it to him. He has a plan. And now I am
coming to what I came principally for."
"Then you have something else to say?"
"Yes. Is your mother still so very ill?"
"Yes, very."
"That is bad; but ill or no, she must make an effort."
"Oh, she is making every effort to get my father spared," cried Frank
bitterly.
"I suppose so," said Drew. "But look here; your poor father is
suffering horribly."
"As if I did not know that!" cried Frank.
"And my father says that Lady Gowan must get a permit to allow her to go
and see him in prison."
"Yes, of course," cried Frank excitedly.
"Go back then now, and tell her to get leave; the Princess will--must
get that for her. They can't refuse it."
"No, they dare not!" said Frank, whose pale face was now quivering with
emotion.
"When would she go?"
"As soon as possible--to-day if she could."
"To-morrow would be better," said Drew quietly. "She would go in her
carriage, of course."
"Oh no; she would go in one of the royal carriages--the one used by the
ladies of honour."
"Of course. I did not see that."
"I shall go with her," said Frank.
"No; she must go to him alone. You saw Sir Robert yesterday. My father
thought of that. He said it would be better."
"I'll do anything he thinks best."
"Then go back now, and tell her to be calm, and to try all she can to be
strong enough to see the Princess and get the permission."
"Yes, I'll go directly," said Frank. "But you? I don't want you to run
any risks."
"And I don't want to. May I stay here till dark?"
"Of course."
"Then call up your housekeeper, and tell her that I am to come and go
here just as if I belonged to the place."