Proof came of the truth of the man's word, for a window on the other side of the street was thrown open, and a voice shouted angrily:

"Hallo there! What are you doing? Want to shoot people?"

"Go in, and shut your window!" cried the officer, in an authoritative tone.

"Yes, that's all very well," cried the voice; "but you've no right to—"

"Silence, sir! in the King's name!" roared the officer. "Here, four rear rank face about, make ready, present!"

There was a shuffling sound, and the ring of muskets being brought up to the shoulder; but before the command Fire! could be uttered, even if it had been intended, the window opposite was banged down, and a laugh arose.

"Now then there," said the officer to the man who had thrust in his arm on the other side of the door, "can you reach?"

There was no reply for a time, while the man strained and reached out up and down, his hand making a peculiar whispering sound as it passed over the panelled woodwork between the door and window.

"Can't reach, sir."

"Here, let me try."

A faint light appeared at the window for a few moments, and then there was a chinking sound as it was darkened again, and Lady Gowan, as she stood panting there, dimly made out that a sword was thrust through, an arm followed, and she could hear the blade ring and scrape as it was used to feel for the fastenings, clicking loudly against the ironwork and the chain which hung at the side ready for hanging across the door, to pass over a spiral hook on the other side.

This went on for a few minutes, when, as with an angry exclamation the officer who had thrust his arm through paused to rest, Lady Gowan stepped forward out of the darkness, went close to the door, bent down, and caught the ring at the end of the hanging chain, and raised it to hook it across and fasten it to secure the door.

She hardly made a sound with foot or dress; but as she drew the chain tight it chinked against the hook, and the officer heard her.

"Ha!" he shouted, with his face to the broken glass. "I see you there. Open this door, or—"

Click, click went the chain into its place, and, raising the blade of his sword, the officer made a sweeping blow at the brave woman, which struck her on the shoulder as she drew back.

"Now," he roared, "will you open?"

The answer was a faint rustling, as Lady Gowan drew back into the dark part of the hall, fortunately unhurt, for the arm which wielded the sword was the left, and thoroughly crippled by its owner's position.

"Lucky for you I didn't give point," he muttered.

Then aloud: "Once more, in the King's name, open this door!"

"I'd die first," said Lady Gowan to herself; and she stood close to the foot of the great staircase listening, and hardly daring to breathe, as she strained her ears to catch some sound of what might be going on upstairs, her wildly dilated eyes fixed the while on the slips of windows on either side of the door. But from within the house all she could hear was a low sobbing from the housekeeper's room below, and the murmur of her old servant's voice as she tried to calm the hysterical girl who was nearly crazy with terror.

But her attention was taken up directly by the voices outside, which came plainly to her through the broken windows.

"Well?" said the officer sharply; and she knew by the reply that one of the men must have climbed the iron railings and been down into the area.

"Both windows covered with big iron bars, sir, and the door seems a reg'lar thick 'un."

"How long will they be getting back, sergeant, with the hammer and crowbars?"

"'Nother ten minutes or quarter-hour, sir."

"Bah! Well, run round to the back, and tell them to keep a sharp look-out. See that the men are well awake at the end of the street, and keep two more ready back and front to stop every one who comes out of the houses in case he tries to escape by the roof."

"Yes, sir."

"If any one appears on the roof, and does not surrender, fire."

The sergeant's heavy paces were heard going along the pavement, every step seeming to crush down Lady Gowan's heart, as her head swam, and in imagination she saw the flash of the soldiers' muskets, and then heard the heavy fall of one for whom she would have gladly died.

Her hand went out to catch at the bottom pillar of the balustrade, and she stood swaying to and fro in the darkness, struggling hard to master the terrible sensation of faintness which came over her.

It soon passed off, for the thought came to her that she must be firm. She was doing nothing to help her husband; but he had bidden her keep watch there over that door, and guard it against danger from within, and as a soldier's wife she would have died sooner than neglect the duty with which he had intrusted her. For how did she know what pressure might be brought to bear upon the weak woman below? The soldiery had been into the area, where there were only the glass windows between, and a broken pane would form an easy way for passage of threats. If bidden to open in the King's name, what might they not do? Ah, she must guard against that, and with her nerves newly strung, she stood listening for a few moments to the buzz of voices outside, and then, feeling that it was impossible for danger to assail them without warning from the front door, she went to the head of the stairs which led down into the basement.

"In the King's name!" she said softly. "Robert is my king, and I can obey none other."

She was herself again now—the quick, eager, brave woman, ready to do anything to save her husband's life; and gliding down the stairs she silently passed the open door of the housekeeper's room, where she could hear the servant girl sobbing, and the old housekeeper trying to comfort her and then to comfort herself.

The next minute, quite unheard, she was at the end of the stone passage where the big, heavy door opened into the area, and began passing her hand over bolt, bar, and lock, to find all fast; and with a sigh of relief she was in the act of softly drawing out the big key, when a movement outside told her that a sentry had been placed at that door, and that the man must have heard the movement of the key.

This made her pause, with her heart throbbing wildly; but in a minute or so she recovered herself, and almost by hairbreadths drew the great key slowly out with scarcely another sound, and crept back along the passage once more, past the open doorway through which the light streamed, and then up the stairs, and back to her former position in the dark hall, feeling confident now that no one could pass into the house from below unheard.

The voices of the soldiers came to her, and an angry inquiry or two from the officer, who was getting out of patience.

"Have they gone to the smith's to get the things made?" he cried angrily.

"Well, sir, you see, it aren't like muskets, or swords, or ammunition," said the sergeant. "We don't want pioneering tools every day."

"But they ought to be ready for use at a moment's notice."

"So they are," grumbled the sergeant to himself; "but you've got to get to 'em first."

And now it appeared to Lady Gowan that an hour passed slowly away, without news of what was passing upstairs, and her agony seemed to be more than she could bear. Every sense had been on the strain, as she stood in trembling expectancy of hearing a shot fired—a shot that she knew would be at the life of her boy's father; but the sluggish minutes crawled on, and still all was silent above, while outside she was constantly hearing little things which showed how thoroughly the soldiery were on the alert.

She had not heard the officer speak for some time, and she divined that he must have gone round to the back of the house, where it faced the open Park; but he would, she was sure, return soon, to give directions to the men who arrived with the tools for breaking in the door; and when this was done, if Sir Robert had not found a way to escape, there would be bloodshed. Her husband would never surrender while he could grasp a sword, and Frank would be certain to draw in his father's defence, and then—

Then Lady Gowan felt, as it were, an icy stab, which passed with a shock right through her; for the thought suggested itself how easy it would be for the soldiers to get a short ladder into the garden front of the house, rear it against the balcony outside the drawing-room window, and force their way in there. No bars would trouble them, and the shutters would give but little resistance. Why had she not thought of that before?

And as she thoroughly grasped this weakness of their little fort in the rear she turned cold with horror, for there was a faint sound on the staircase behind her, and as at the same moment she heard the loud steps of approaching men on the pavement outside a hand made a quick clutch from the darkness behind at her arm.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

FOR DEAR LIFE.

"Now, Frank, my boy," said Sir Robert, as the door closed on Lady Gowan, "they have us in front, and they have us in the rear. A fox, they say, always has two holes to the earth. A man is obliged to have a third way of escape if his enemies are too many for him, and I don't want to fight with the King's men for other reasons than that they belong to my old regiment."

"Shall I light the candle again, father?"

"No, it will take too long, and I can do what I want in the dark. I've a rope here."

Frank heard his father unlock a cabinet, and his heart beat hopefully, when the next minute his father bade him "take hold," and he felt a thin, soft coil of rope passed into his hands.

He needed no telling what was to follow, for he grasped the idea at once, and followed his father out of the room without a word.

They paused on the staircase for a few moments, and heard the shivering of the glass and the stern summons for the door to be opened; and then Sir Robert laid his hand upon his son's shoulder.

"Seems cowardly, Frank, to try to escape, and leave a woman to bear the brunt of the encounter; but I must play the fugitive now. I can't afford to surrender; the risks are too great. Come on. Your mother must not be disappointed after what she has done, and have to see me marched off."

Frank was astounded at his father's coolness, but he said nothing, and followed him quickly to the top of the house to where there was a trap-door in the ceiling over the passage leading to one of the attics.

Without telling, Frank bent down and raised the light steps which were on one side of the passage, passed his arm through the coil of rope, went up the steps, and pushed open the trap-door, which fell back, leaving an opening for him to pass through into the false roof.

Sir Robert followed, and a door formed like a dormer window in the slope of the roof was unbolted ready for him to step out on to the narrow leads.

"Now, Frank lad, give me the rope," said Sir Robert in a low voice. "Then follow me along by the parapet. We need not crawl, for it will hide us from the soldiers if we lean inward and keep one hand on the sloping slates."

"Yes, I understand," said Frank; "you mean to go along the roofs right to the end."

"Yes: right."

"And fasten the rope round a chimney stack?"

"That's quite right too; and now listen. I shall not be able to talk to you out there. As soon as I am down, don't stop to untie the rope; it will be too tight from my weight. Cut it, and draw it up again quickly, then get back as you came, shut the door after you, and take down the steps before you join your mother. But you must do something with the rope."

"Hide it?" said Frank.

"It would be found, and I don't want you or your mother to have the credit of helping me to escape."

"Burn it in the kitchen fire?"

"There will not be time. They will search the house. I cannot propose a way, only do something with it. Now good-bye."

"Good-bye?" faltered Frank.

"Yes, while I can speak to you. Quick! a soldier's good-bye. That will do; now out after me."

Sir Robert's "good-bye" was a firm grip of his son's hand, and then he crept out on to the roof; Frank followed him, his heart throbbing with excitement; and as he stepped out he could hear voices down below in the garden beneath the drawing-room windows.

Frank shivered a little, for he felt sure that they would be seen against the sky, in spite of their precaution of leaning toward the sloping roof, and he fully expected to hear the report of muskets; but the shiver was more due to excitement than fear.

"They would not be able to hit us on a night like this, while we are moving," he said to himself; and with a strange feeling of wild exhilaration, he followed the dark figure before him, climbing across the low walls which separated house from house, and finding it easy enough to walk along in the narrow path-like space of leaded roof, which extended from the bottom of the slate slope to the low parapet with its stone coping, beyond which nothing was visible but the tops of the trees in the Park.

They must have passed over the roofs of twenty houses before Sir Robert stopped; and, as Frank crept up close to him, he put his lips to the boy's ear.

"It's a drop of ten feet to the next house," he said. "Must go down from here."

A sensation of dread did now attack Frank, as he thought of the descent of a heavy man by the frail rope. If it had been he who was to go down, it would have been different, and he would have felt no hesitation.

Catching at his father's arm, he whispered:

"Are you sure that it will bear you?"

"Certain."

"But the chimney stack?" whispered Frank, as he could dimly make out that his father was uncoiling the rope, and he could see no place that would be suitable.

"Hist! This is better."

Sir Robert was now kneeling down, and after being puzzled for a few moments, Frank then made out that his father was passing one end of the rope through an opening at the corner of the parapet where the rain-water ran through a leaded shoot into the upright leaden stack-pipe which ran down the house and carried it into the drain.

Frank dimly made out that he knotted the rope carefully, and tried it by pulling hard twice over, before throwing a few yards over the parapet and letting the rest run through his hands till it was all down.

His next movement puzzled the boy, but he grasped the meaning directly after.

They were at an angle now, and Sir Robert was carefully testing the stone coping, to see if it were tight in its place and the pieces held together by the iron clamps kept in their places by the running in of molten lead.

Apparently satisfied, he turned quickly to where Frank stood, now trembling, grasped his hand, and whispered:

"Have you a knife?"

"Yes, father."

"Cut the rope, and get back as soon as you can. Don't wait to listen whether I elude the men."

"No, father."

Sir Robert stood holding his son's hand for a few moments, and listening to the murmur of voices at the back of his house, where the soldiers were talking rather excitedly.

"For liberty and life, Frank!" whispered Sir Robert then; and with the perspiration standing in great drops on the boy's face, he saw his father grasp the rope knotted so tightly from the hole by the lead on which he stood over the stone coping, throw back his cloak, and then lay himself flat on the parapet, and carefully lower his feet as he held on by the stone. From that he lowered himself, and, partly supported by the top of the leaden stack-pipe, he slowly changed his right hand to the loop of the rope; then softly gliding by the wide-open head of the pipe, he began to descend with the rope well twined round his right leg, and held to the calf of his heavy boot by the edge of his left boot sole.

"If the rope should break or come undone!" thought the boy, as he turned cold and dropped upon his knees to reach over and grip the knot with both hands, while his lips moved as he muttered a prayer, feeling the thin cord quiver and jerk as if it were a strange nerve which connected him with his father, who was below there somewhere in the darkness—jar, thrill, and make a humming noise like the string of some huge bass instrument, but so faint that it would have been inaudible at any other time. But he could hear plainly enough, without any exaltation of his senses, that the soldiers were talking earnestly not a hundred yards away, their voices rising clearly to where the boy knelt.

How long was it that he could feel that vibration of the cord which thrilled through him right to his toes, and made his hair feel as if it were being lifted from his scalp? Ten minutes—five minutes—a quarter of an hour? Not many seconds, and then it stopped; and the horror of feeling it suddenly slacken and hearing a heavy crashing fall did not assail the anxious boy, though he had fully expected it. The vibration ceased, and there was a quick, warning shake, which Frank interpreted to mean a signal for him to remember his orders, and hasten back to the house.

He would have liked to lean over, listening and straining his sight to follow the further movements of his father; but Sir Robert had, unconsciously to both, gradually disciplined his son into a prompt, soldierly way of instantly obeying orders, and directly that wave had passed up to him, Frank's knife was out, and the rope, after a good deal of sawing, was cut through, the knife replaced, and the cord was rapidly drawn up, and laid down on the leads in a loose coil.

He bent over then for a moment or two and listened, but all was still just below. There was no alarm such as he had dreaded, no shouting and firing of shots; and gathering up the rope, he hurried back along the narrow leads, using the same precaution of leaning inward, passed from house to house quickly, and kept on asking himself what he should do to hide the rope.

No idea came, and he had nearly reached home before it flashed across his brain, and he drew a breath of relief.

There was a hiding-place just before him, at the top of the low ridge of the house two doors away from his own. A low chimney was smoking steadily, and without pausing to think whether it was wise or no he crept up the slates, reached the ridge, grasped the side of the chimney stack, and stood upright, finding that he could just reach the top of the smoking pot.

That was enough. The next minute he had the end of the rope passed in; and resting his wrists on the top of the pot, he drew and drew, rather slowly at first, but more and more rapidly as the descending end gained weight, and at last sufficed to run it down, and then it was gone.

He slid down the slates, and, feeling relieved of an incubus, he reached their own house, glided in at the dormer, shut and bolted the door, descended through the trap, drawing it over him, went down the steps, laid them in their place, and, lastly, wondering whether he had soiled his hands with the black on the top of the house, he ran rapidly downstairs.

As he ran he could hear the heavy tramp of the soldiers in the street at the front, and when he reached the lower flights dimly made out the figure of his mother standing at the bottom step, and stretched out his hand and caught her arm.

Lady Gowan uttered a cry of horror, and sprang forward into the hall, facing round to meet her invisible enemy; but she uttered a faint sigh of relief as her arm was caught again, and she heard the familiar voice whisper:

"Hush! hush! mother."

"Ah!" she whispered back. "Your father?"

Frank's answer was drowned by a thunderous blow delivered with a sledge-hammer upon the door close to the lock, and this was followed by another and another, which raised echoes up the staircase, and brought a series of hysterical shrieks from the housekeeper's room.

But Lady Gowan paid no heed to either. She caught her son by the arms, and drew him farther from the door, placed her lips to his ear, and whispered in an agonised tone:

"Your father?—speak!"

"Got down safe, and gone," whispered back Frank; and as his mother clung to him a strange thrill of elation ran through his nerves, making him feel that he was engaged in an adventure full of delirious joy. He felt that he must shout and cheer to get rid of the intense excitement which made his blood bubble in his veins, and he was ready for any mad display in what was like playing some wonderful game, in which, after a desperate struggle, his side was winning.

"Let them hammer and bang down the door, mother. The idiots! they are giving him time to get safe away. Oh the fools, the fools! Shall I go and speak to them?"

"No, no," whispered Lady Gowan, speaking with her lips once more to her boy's ear, for the noise made was deafening. "Let them take time to break in, and then we must parley with them, and let them suspect us and make a regular search. They will waste nearly an hour, Frank."

"Of course they will," cried the boy joyously; "but, I say, mother, we're not going to put up with this, you know; I'm not going to have you insulted by these people breaking into the house. I shall show fight."

"No, no, don't do anything imprudent, Frank. We must assume that we took them for a ruffianly mob who tried to break in."

"But they said, 'in the King's name,' mother," said the boy dubiously.

"And we would not believe them, my boy. Frank, Frank, it is horrible to incite you to prevaricate and dally with the truth, but it is to save your father's life. Be silent. On my head be the sin, and I will speak and bear it."

The crashing of the woodwork went on beneath the blows, and the murmur that rose like a low, deep accompaniment outside told that a crowd had collected, and were being kept back by the soldiery.

"This way, Frank," cried Lady Gowan; and she drew her son after her to the head of the basement steps, where she called aloud to the housekeeper, who came hurrying up, candle in hand, to where mother and son stood.

The old woman looked ghastly, and Frank could hear a strange sobbing from below, in spite of the noise at the front, which was partly deadened from where they stood.

"Master, my lady?" cried the woman wildly.

"Safe—escaped, Berry," said Lady Gowan, in a voice full of exultation.

"Safe—escaped, my lady!" cried the woman, with the light of exultation rising now in her countenance. "Then let them batter the house down, the wretches. I don't care now."

"But, Berry, listen. Sir Robert is out of their reach by now; but they must not know that he has been here."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the woman wildly; "they won't get anything out of me. What! me tell 'em that my dear young master, whom I nursed when he wasn't half the size of Master Frank—tell 'em he has been here! I'd sooner have my tongue cut out."

"But the girl—the girl?"

"What her, my lady?" said the housekeeper contemptuously. "Oh, they'll get nothing out of her to-night but shrieks, and nothing now, for she's shruck herself hoarse and speechless."

"Ah!" sighed Lady Gowan, "then now I can feel at rest. Come up, Frank."

She led the way to the staircase, and hurried on to the drawing-room, with the massive front door being broken piecemeal by the heavy sledge-hammer; but each chain and bolt still held, and there was no way in yet but for light and noise, so that, before they gave way, Frank had time to get a light and ignite the candles in two sets of branches in the drawing-room which they had entered and then fastened the door.

This done, he turned in surprise to see that his mother had thrown back her hood, rearranged her hair, and was standing there before him flushed, but proud and perfectly calm.

"Oh, mother!" he cried, stepping up to her and kissing her. "I can't help it. Drew is right. I am so proud of you."

"Are you?" she said, smiling, as she returned his kiss, and her look said that the pride was reciprocal.

They gazed in each other's eyes for a few moments, as if deaf to the sounds below-stairs, which told that the soldiers had at last gained an entrance.

Then a change came over Lady Gowan's face, her upper lip curled, and a look of haughty scorn shone from her eyes.

"They are coming up, my boy," she cried. "Leave me to speak."

For answer Frank drew his sword, caught up the silver branch with its three candles from the table, and took a couple of strides in front of his mother toward the door, as it was dashed open, when, sword in hand, followed by half a dozen men with fixed bayonets, the officer in command rushed in.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

SAVED!

"Here, how dare you!" shouted Frank angrily; and, in utter astonishment, the officer stopped short, and lowered the sword he had fully expected to use, while the men threw up their bayonets and stood fast. "I don't know you, but you belong to the Guards, I suppose, and—"

"Silence, Frank! Let me speak," said Lady Gowan, without a tremor in her voice. "Then you are not an armed mob of rioters. Pray, what does this outrage mean?"

"I ask your pardon, Lady Gowan," said the young officer, recovering himself; "it is a painful act of duty."

"To break into my house, sir!" said Lady Gowan haughtily, while her son felt more than ever that he was engaged in some madly exciting game.

"I was refused entrance, after repeatedly demanding it in the King's name."

"In the King's name!" cried Lady Gowan scornfully. "How were I, my son, or my servants to know that this was not the excuse made by one of the riotous Jacobite bands to obtain entrance and plunder my home?"

"I cannot help fulfilling my duty, Lady Gowan," said the young officer respectfully. "I must proceed to the arrest."

"Arrest?" cried Lady Gowan hurriedly. "Oh, Frank! But surely—ah, I will speak to the Princess. Such a trivial act—a thoughtless boy. Arrest him for absenting himself without leave—to meet his mother—at his own home?"

"Your ladyship must be trifling with me," said the officer sternly, "and I cannot be played with. Information was brought to the Palace that Sir Robert Gowan is here, and at all costs my orders are to arrest him. I beg that you will tell him to surrender at once."

"Go back to those who sent you, sir, and tell them that Sir Robert Gowan is not here."

"Then where is he, madam?"

"You have no right to question me, sir," said Lady Gowan haughtily; "but, to end this interview, I will answer your question. I do not know."

"Your ladyship tells me that?" cried the officer quickly.

"I refuse to be questioned by you, sir," said Lady Gowan with dignity. "You are in the King's Guards; you have a duty to perform. I am helpless at this moment. Pray do it, and go. But I insist, in the name of the lady whom I have the honour to serve, that you do not go without leaving a proper guard to protect this house from pillage by the mob outside."

The officer looked puzzled and confused for a moment or two, and then he spoke again sharply.

"I am bound to take your ladyship's word," he said; "but you know!" he cried, turning suddenly upon Frank, and so fiercely intended as to throw him off his guard. "Come, sir; it is of no use to prevaricate. Where is Sir Robert?"

But Frank was as firm as his mother, and he met the young officer's eyes without flinching.

"Where is my father?" he said quietly. "I don't know, and if I did I wouldn't tell you."

A flush of anger suffused the young Guardsman's face; but the boy's manner touched him home, and the anger passed away in a laugh.

"Well," he said, "that's not a bad answer. Unfortunately, young gentleman, I can't be satisfied with it.—Lady Gowan, I regret having this duty placed in my hands to carry out, but I must perform it. I am compelled to disbelieve you and your son, and search the house."

"Do your duty then, sir," said Lady Gowan coldly; "but I cannot stay here to submit to the insult. I insist upon my house being protected."

"My men are at the door, madam, and no one will be allowed to pass. I answer for the place being safe."

"Thank you, sir," said Lady Gowan courteously. "I do not blame you for all this. I presume my son and I can pass your men?"

"Of course, madam," said the officer; and his manner changed, for these words impressed him more than any denial that Sir Robert was there. "I thank you for going, though," he said, recovering his composure. "You relieve me from the painful duty of arresting Sir Robert in your presence."

Lady Gowan smiled, and drew her hood over her head.

"Come, Frank," she said; "see me back to the Palace; you will not need your sword."

The officer took up the silver branch Frank had set down, and as the boy returned his sword to its sheath, and his mother took his arm, the officer preceded them, and lit them down the stairs, where Lady Gowan stopped in the splinter-strewn hall to speak to the housekeeper.

"See, Berry," she said quietly, "that this gentleman and his men have every opportunity for searching the house. A rumour has been carried to the Palace that Sir Robert is here. When they have done, men will be placed as sentries to guard the place. In the morning send for the workmen to see that a new door is placed there, and to do first what is necessary to board this one up."

"Yes, my lady," said the housekeeper quietly.

The next minute Lady Gowan and her son passed out of the house with a corporal and four men to escort them back to the Palace, the crowd making way for the armed men, while the officer returned to the hall, and looked at the sergeant fixedly.

"Gone?" said the officer.

"Yes, sir. Bird's flown," replied the sergeant.

"Well, search from top to bottom, from cellar to leads. That's the way he must have gone."

"If it wasn't a false alarm, sir," said the man respectfully. "I never had much faith in any spies."

"Be on your guard; he may be here," said the officer. "Now search."

The sergeant went off promptly with his men, muttering to himself:

"And nobody's better pleased than me. Nicely we should have been groaned at if we had found him. That is, if we had taken him; but he'd have fought like the man he is. Well, I'm glad he's gone."

"I Saved, Frank, saved!" whispered Lady Gowan, as they parted on reaching the Palace.

"Yes, mother, saved. Oh, don't look like that!"

She kissed him hurriedly, and entered her apartment, to hurry thence to the Princess's chamber; while Frank made for his own, with his head feeling as if it were full of buzzing sounds, and ready to ask himself if all that he had gone through was not part of a feverish dream.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

MORE ABOUT THE DUCKS.

The news was all over the Palace the next morning; but before meeting Andrew Forbes, Frank hurried to his mother's apartments, to find her dressed, but lying down, her maid saying that she was very ill, but that she would see Mr Gowan.

"I thought you would come, my boy," said Lady Gowan, embracing him. "Oh, my darling, what a horrible night! Tell me again all about your father's escape."

"You're not well enough, mother," said the boy bluntly. "It will only agitate you more. Isn't it enough that I helped him to get safe away without any accident?"

"Yes, yes, you are right," said Lady Gowan. "But how rash, how mad of him to come! Frank, remember that you must not breathe a word about how it was that I was able to warn him."

"I see," said Frank; "it would make mischief."

"And this has undone all that I was trying to do. He might have been forgiven in time; now we shall have to wait perhaps for years."

"Then don't let's wait, mother. He says that we should have to suffer terribly if we shared his lot with him. But who cares? I shouldn't a bit, and I'm sure you wouldn't mind."

"I, my boy?" cried Lady Gowan passionately. "I'd gladly lead the humblest life with him, so that we could be at peace."

"Very well, then; let's go."

Lady Gowan shook her head.

"We must respect your father's wishes, Frank," she said sadly. "No; we must stay as we are till we are ordered to leave here, or your father bids us come."

"There," said the boy, "I was right. You must not talk about it any more; it only makes you cry. Never mind what happened last night. He has got safely away."

"But if he should venture again, my boy," sobbed Lady Gowan.

"Never mind about ifs, mother. Of course he longed to see us, and he ran the risk, so as to be near. I should have done the same, if I had been like he is. There, now you lie still and read all day. He won't run any more risks, so as not to frighten you. I must go now."

Lady Gowan clung to her son for a few minutes, and then he hurried away, to find Andrew Forbes in the courtyard.

"Ah, I was right!" he said. "I went to your rooms, thinking I should catch you; but you were up and off. I thought this would be where you had come. But, I say, I thought we were friends."

"Well, so we are."

"Don't seem like it, for you to go and have a jolly night of adventures like that, and leave me out in the cold."

"I couldn't help it, Drew," said Frank apologetically.

"Yes, you could. I smell a rat now. I thought you turned very queer when we were by your house yesterday. Then you saw him at one of the windows?"

Frank looked at him frowningly, and then nodded his head.

"And never told me! Well, this is being a friend! I would have trusted you. But, I say, it was grand. I've just seen Captain Murray and the doctor. They were together in the captain's room. They wouldn't say so, of course, but they were delighted to hear he got away, though they say they wouldn't wonder if you were dismissed."

"I don't care, if my mother has to leave too."

"Ah! but the Princess wouldn't let her go. I say, how do you feel now?"

"Very miserable," said Frank sadly.

"Nonsense! You mean not so precious loyal as you were."

"If you are going to begin about that business again, I am going," said Frank coldly.

"I've done. I'm satisfied. You'll be as eager on the other side some day, Frank; and I like you all the better for being so staunch as you are. As my father says, it makes you the better worth winning."

"When did your father say that?" cried Frank sharply.

"Never mind. Perhaps he wrote it to me. You can't expect me to be quite open with you if you're not with me. But, I say," cried the lad enthusiastically, "it's grand!"

"What is?"

"For us to be both with our fathers banished. Why, Frank, it's like making heroes of us."

"Making geese of us! What nonsense!"

"Just as you like; but I shall feel what I please. I never did see such a fellow as you are, though. You have no more romance in you than a big drum. But, I say, tell us all about it."

With a little pressing Frank told him all, the narrative being given, in an undertone, and after a faithful promise of secrecy, on one of the benches under a tree in the Park, while Andrew sat with his fingers interlaced and nipped between his knees, flushed of face, his eyes flashing, and his teeth set.

"Oh," he cried at last, "I wish I had been there, and it had come to a fight."

"What good would that have done?" said Frank.

"Oh, I don't know; but what a night! It was glorious! And to think that all the while I was moping alone over a stupid book, while you were enjoying yourself like that."

"Enjoying myself!" cried Frank scornfully.

"Yes, enjoying yourself. There, with your sword out, defending your beautiful mother from the Guards, after saving your father's life, and keeping the castle—house, I mean—against the men who were battering down the gate—door."

"Well," said Frank drily, "if I have no more romance in me than there is in a big drum, you have."

"I should think I have!" cried the lad, whose handsome, effeminate face was scarlet with his excitement. "Why, you cold-blooded, stony-hearted old countryman, can't you see that you were doing man's work, and having glorious adventures?"

"No; only that it was very horrible," said Frank, with his brow all in lines.

"Bah! I don't believe you felt like that. What a chance! What a time to have! All the luck coming to you, and I'm obliged to lead the life of a palace lapdog, when I want to be a soldier fighting for my king."

"Wait till you get older," said Frank. "I wanted to be a man last night."

"Why, you were a man. It was splendid!" cried Andrew enthusiastically.

"I wasn't a man, and it wasn't splendid," said Frank sadly. "I felt all right then; but when I woke this morning, I seemed to see myself standing there in our drawing-room, with my sword in one hand and the big silver candlestick in the other, and I felt that I must have looked very ridiculous, and that the young officer and the men with him must have laughed at me."

"Er-r-err!" growled Andrew; "I haven't patience with you, Franky. You're too modest by half—modest as a great girl. No, you're not; no girl could have behaved like you did. I only wish I had had the chance to be there. Ridiculous indeed! Very ridiculous to help your father to escape as you did, 'pon my honour. Oh yes, very ridiculous! I want to be as ridiculous as that every day of my life; and if it isn't playing the man—"

"Yes, that's it," said Frank gloomily,—"playing the man, when one's only a boy."

"Bah! Hold your tongue, stupid. You don't know yet what you did do. But, I say, that was ridiculous, if you like."

"What was?" said Frank, starting.

"Climbing up the roof to hide the rope, and stuffing it down the next-door chimney. I say: I wonder what the people thought."

Frank smiled now.

"Well, that does seem comic."

"It was glorious. But they'll never know. They'll think the sweeps must have left it when the chimney was last swept. But I suppose you've heard about Lieutenant Brayley's report?"

"No, not a word. I went as soon as I was dressed to see how my mother was."

"Oh, I heard from Murray. He reported that it was a false alarm, and that Sir Robert could not have been there, for he had the house well watched back and front, and all the approaches to the houses adjoining. Oh, I do enjoy getting the better of the other side. And, I say, every one's delighted that he escaped, if he was there; but I hope he won't get taken. Tell him to mind, Franky, for every place swarms with spies, and that it's next to impossible to get out of the country. Oh, I wouldn't have him taken for all the world."

"Thank ye," said Frank warmly; "but how am I to tell him that?"

Andrew turned and gave his companion a peculiar smiling look.

"Of course," he said merrily, "how can you tell him? He did not tell you how to write to him—oh, no; nor where to find the letters he sent to you. Oh, no; he wouldn't do that. Not at all likely, is it?"

Frank turned white.

"How did you know that?" he said hoarsely.

"Because I'm rowing in the same boat, Franky. Why, of course he did. Now, didn't he?"

The boy nodded.

"So did my father, of course. There, I'm going to thoroughly trust you, if you don't me. I'd trust you with anything, because I can feel that you couldn't go wrong. I don't want you to tell me where your father told you to write, or what name he is going to take, or how you are to get his letters, for of course he couldn't write to the Palace. But he told you how to communicate with him, I do know, Frank. It was a matter of course with your father like that. I say, what do you think of a tin box in a hollow tree in the Park, where you can bury it in the touchwood when you go to feed the ducks?"

"That would be a good way of course," said Frank; "but no, it isn't like that."

"What, for you and your father? Who said it was? I meant for me and mine."

"What! Feed the ducks! Drew!" cried Frank excitedly.

"Yes; what's the matter?"

"Feed the ducks?"

"Yes, feed the ducks!"

"You don't mean to tell me that—that—"

"Mr George Selby is my father? Of course I do."

"Oh!" ejaculated Frank in astonishment.

"Isn't it fine?" cried Andrew. "He comes and feeds the ducks—his Majesty King George's ducks—and the precious spies stand and watch him; and sometimes he has a chance to see me, and sometimes he hasn't, and then he leaves a note for me in the old tree, for he says it's the only pleasure he has in his solitary exiled life."

"Oh, Drew!" cried Frank warmly.

"Yes, poor old chap. I'm not worth thinking about so much, only I suppose I'm something like what poor mother was, and he likes it, or he wouldn't leave all his plots and plans for getting poor James Francis on the throne to come risking arrest. They'd make short work of him, Frank, if they knew—head shorter. I shall tell him I've told you. But I know what he'll say."

"That you were much to blame," said Frank eagerly.

"Not he. He'll trust you, as I do. He likes you, Frank. He told me he liked you all the better for being so true to your principles, and that he was very glad to find that I had made friends with you. There, now you can tell me as much as you like. Nothing at all, if you think proper; but I shall trust you as much as you'll let me, my lad. There, it's time to go in. I want to hear more about what they're doing. As they know that your father has been seen, they'll be more strict than ever. But let's go round by your old house."

"No, no," said Frank, with a shudder.

"Better go.—Come, don't shiver like that. You were a man last night; be one now."

"Come along then," said Frank firmly; and they walked sharply round by the end of the canal, and back along the opposite side toward Westminster, passing several people on the way, early as the hour was.

"Don't seem to notice any one," said Andrew; "and walk carelessly and openly, just as if you were going—as we are—to look at your old house where the adventure was."

"Why?"

"Because several of the people we pass will be spies. I don't want to put you all in a fidget; but neither you nor your mother will be able to stir now without being watched."

"Do you think so?" said Frank, who felt startled.

"Sure of it. There, that's doing just what I told you not to do, opening your mouth like a bumpkin for the flies to jump down your throat, and making your eyes look dark all round like two burnt holes in a blanket. Come along. You mustn't mind anything now. I don't: I'm used to it. Let 'em see that you don't care a rush, and that they may watch you as much as they please. Now don't say anything to me, only walk by me, and we'll go by the Park front of your place. I want to have a quiet stare at the tops of the houses and at the corner where your father slipped down the rope."

Frank obeyed his companion, and they walked on, seeing no one in particular, save an elderly man with a very bad cough, who stopped from time to time to rest upon his crutch-handled stick, and indulge in a long burst of coughing, interspersing it with a great many "Oh dears!" and groans. They left him behind, as they passed the last tall house, where Frank shuddered as he saw the upright leaden stack, the hole in the parapet, where the rope was tied, and the garden beneath.

The boy turned hot as he went over the whole adventure again and thought the same thoughts. Then he glanced sharply through the iron railings in search of footmarks, but saw none, for Andrew uttered a warning "Take care," and he looked straight before him again as he went out by the Park gate, and turned back and through the streets till they reached the front of the house, where men were nailing up boards, and a couple of soldiers stood on duty, marching up and down, as if some royal personage were within.

Frank glanced at the workmen, and would have increased his pace, but Andrew had hold of his arm and kept him back.

"Don't hurry," he said quietly; and then lightly to one of the sentries, "Got some prisoners inside, my man?"

The sentry grinned, and gave his head a side wise nod toward Frank.

"Ask this young gentleman, sir; he knows."

Frank flushed scarlet, as he turned sharply to the man, whom he now recognised as one of the Guards who entered the drawing-room with the officer.

"Ah, to be sure," said Andrew coolly; and nodding carelessly, he went on and out by the gate into the Park at the end of the street, where the old man they had previously seen was holding on by the railings coughing violently.

"Poor old gentleman!" said Andrew sarcastically, but loud enough for him to hear; "he seems to be suffering a good deal from that cough."

The man bent his head lower till his brow rested on the hand which held on by the railings, and coughed more than ever.

"You needn't have made remarks about him," whispered Frank. "I'm afraid he heard what you said."

"I meant him to hear," said Andrew loudly; and he stopped and looked back directly. "A miserable, contemptible impostor. I could cure his wretched cough in two minutes with that stick he leans on."

The man started as if he had received a blow, and raised his head to glare fiercely at the youth, who was looking him superciliously up and down.

"Look at him, Frank," continued Andrew; "did you ever see such a miserable, hangdog-looking cur?"

Frank felt in agony, and gripped his companion by the arm.

"Did you mean that to insult me, boy?" said the man angrily.

"Done it without the stick," said Andrew, not appearing to notice the man's words. "You see a good lash from the tongue was enough. Now, can you imagine it possible that any one could sink so low as to earn his living by watching his fellow-creatures, spying their every act, and then betraying them for the sake of a few dirty shillings, to send them to prison or to the gibbet? There can be nothing on earth so base as a thing like this. Why, a footpad is a nobleman compared to him."

"You insolent young puppy!" cried the man; and entirely forgetful of his infirmity, he took three or four paces toward them, with his stick raised to strike.

Frank's hand darted to his sword, but Andrew did not stir. He stood with his lids half closed and his lips compressed, staring firmly at his would-be assailant, never flinching for a moment, nor removing his eyes from those which literally glowed with anger.

"The cough's gone, Frank, and the disguise might as well go with it. He is not an invalid, but one of the vile, treacherous ruffians in the pay of the Government. Let your blade alone; he daren't strike, for fear of having a sword through his miserable carcass. He was dressed as a sailor the other day, and he looked as if he had never had a foot at sea. He has been hanging about the Park for the past month. Pah! look at the contemptible worm."

The miserable spy and informer, who had remained with his stick raised, turned white with passion, as he stood listening to the lad's scathing words, and had either of the boys flinched he might have struck at them. As it was, he uttered a fierce imprecation, let the point of his stick drop to the ground, and turned away to hobble for a few steps, and, as if from habit, began to cough; but Andrew burst into a bitter laugh, and with a fierce oath the man turned again and shook his stick at him before ceasing his cough and walking sharply away, erect and vigorous as any.

"Well," said Andrew, "do you think I insulted him too much?"

"Why, he is an impostor!"

"Pah! London swarms with his kind. They have sent many a good, true, and innocent man to Tyburn for the sake of blood-money—men whose only fault was that they believed James Francis to be our rightful king. Frank," cried the lad passionately, "I can't tell you how I loathe the reptiles. I knew that wretch directly; my father pointed him out to me as one to beware of. If he knew what we do, he would send my dear, brave father to the scaffold, and he is trying hard to send yours. Where's your pity for the poor invalid now?"

"Oh!" ejaculated Frank excitedly, "can such things be true?"

"True? Why was he dogging us this morning? I can't be sure, of course; but as likely as not it was upon his information that your poor father was almost taken last night, and your mother nearly broken-hearted this morning. Why, Frank, I never saw you look so fierce before. It's all nonsense about my being two years older than you. You've overtaken and passed me, lad. I'm getting quite afraid of you."

"Oh, don't banter me now, Drew. I can't bear it."

"It's only my spiteful tongue, Frank. I don't banter you at heart. I'm in earnest. Only a short time ago I used to think I was as old as a man, and it was trouble about my father made me so. Now I can't help seeing how trouble is altering you too. Don't mind what I say, but I must say it. Some day you'll begin to think that I am not so much to blame for talking as I do about our royal master."

Frank drew a long, deep breath, and felt as if it might after all be possible.

"There, that's enough for one morning," cried Andrew merrily. "We're only boys after all, even if I am such a queer fish. Let's be boys again now. What do you say? I'll race you round the end of the canal, and see who can get in first to breakfast."

"No," said Frank; "I want to walk back quietly and think."

"And I don't mean to let you. There, we've had trouble enough before breakfast. Let's put it aside, and if we can get away go and see the Horse Guards parade, and then listen to the band and see some of the drilling. I want to learn all I can about an officer's duty, so as not to be like a raw recruit when I get my commission, if I ever do. I say: hungry?"

"I? No."

"Then you must be. Make a good breakfast, lad. Sir Robert's safe enough by now, and he'll be more cautious in future about coming amongst his Majesty's springes and mantraps. Look yonder; there's Captain Murray. Who's that with him?"

"The doctor."

"So it is. Let's go and talk to them."

"No; let them go by before we start for the gate. I feel as if every one will be knowing about last night, and want to question me. I wish I could go away till it has all blown over."

"But you can't, Frank; and you must face it out like a man. I say—"

"Well?"

"You're not likely to see the King, and if you did it's a chance if he'd know who you are; but you're sure to see the Prince, and I am a bit anxious to know whether he'll take any notice about what his page did last night, and if he does, what he'll say."

"I'm pretty well sure to see him this afternoon," said Frank gloomily; "and if he questions me I can't tell him a lie. What shall I say?"

"I'll tell you," said Andrew merrily.

"Yes? What?"

"Say nothing. He can't make you speak."

"Then he'll be angry, and it will be fresh trouble for my mother."

"I don't believe he will be," said Andrew. "Well, don't spoil your breakfast about something which may never happen. Wait and see. The worst he could do would be to have you dismissed; and if he does he'll dismiss me too, for I shan't stop here, Frank, unless my father says I must."



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

WITH PRINCE AND PRINCESS.

Frank thought over his companion's proposals for spending such time as they could get away from duty, and soon after breakfast said what he thought.

"Every one seems to know about it," he said mournfully. "It's wonderful what an excitement it has caused."

"Not a bit. Every one knows Lady Gowan and her son, and how Sir Robert was sent out of the country on account of that duel in the Park; so of course they talk about it."

"But wherever we go we shall be meeting people who will want to question me."

"Yes," said Andrew quietly. "I've been thinking the same. It's a great nuisance, for I wanted to go soldiering to-day."

"There's nothing to prevent you going."

"Yes, there is—you. I'm not going without you go too."

"But, Drew—"

"There, don't say any more about it," said the lad warmly. "I know. It wouldn't be pleasant for you to go, so you stay in, and we'll read or talk."

"But I don't like to force you to give up."

"Not going to force me. I'm going to stay because I like it, and keep you company, and stop people from talking to you."

Frank said little, but he thought a great deal, and the most about how, in spite of his old belief that he should never thoroughly care for his fellow-page, the tie of sympathy between them from the similarity of their positions was growing stronger every day.

As it happened they did not lose much, for they found that they would have to be a good deal on duty, and the consequence was that much of the early part of the day was spent in the antechamber to help usher in quite a long string of gentlemen, who wished for an audience with the Prince.

In the afternoon, just as Frank was longing for his freedom so that he might go and inquire how Lady Gowan was, he received a sharp nudge from Andrew, and turned quickly, to find that a knot of ladies had entered the room, and naturally his first glance was to see if his mother was with them. But he did not see her, his eyes lighting instead upon the Princess, who was on her way to join her husband.

The blood rose to Frank's cheeks as he saw that her Royal Highness was looking at him intently, and his confusion increased as she smiled pleasantly at him in passing. Instead of hurrying forward to open the door for her as usual, he stood in his place as if frozen, and the duty fell to Andrew, who joined him as soon as the last lady had passed through the door and the curtain was let fall.

"I say, Frank," said the lad merrily, "she didn't seem very cross with you. Lucky to be you, with your mother a favourite. You're all right, and I don't suppose you'll hear another word about the business. It's a good thing sometimes to be a boy."

But Andrew proved to be wrong, and within the next hour or so; for the last of the audience—reckless officers praying for promotion and gentlemen asking the Prince's support as they sought for place—had gone, when a servant entered the anteroom, and took Frank's breath away by saying that the Prince wished to speak with him directly.

"It's all over with you, Frank," whispered Andrew; "leave me a lock of your hair, and you may as well give me your sword for a keepsake. You'll never want it again."

These bantering words did not quell the boy's alarm, but he had no time for thought; he had to go, and, drawing himself up and trying to put on a firm mien, he went to the door, drew aside the curtain, knocked, and entered.

The Prince was busy at a table covered with papers, the Princess sat near him in the opening of one of the windows, and her ladies were at the other end of the room beyond earshot.

The boy grasped all this as he moved toward the table, and then stood waiting respectfully for his Royal Highness to speak.

But some minutes elapsed, during which the boy's heart beat heavily, and he stood watching the Prince, as he kept on dipping his pen in the ink and signed some of the papers by him, and drew the pen across others.

Frank would have given anything for a look of encouragement from the Princess; but she sat with her face still turned away, reading. At last!

The Prince looked up sharply, as if he had just become aware of the boy's presence, and said in rather imperfect English: "Well, my boy!"

Frank, who had felt so manly the previous night and that morning, was the schoolboy again, completely taken aback, and for a few moments stood staring blankly at the inquiring eyes before him. Then, as the Prince raised his brows as if about to say, "Why don't you speak?" the boy said hurriedly:

"Your Royal Highness sent for me."

"Sent for you? No—oh yes, I remember. Well, sir, what excuse have you to make for yourself?"

"None, your Highness," said the boy firmly.

"Humph! Defiant and obstinate?"

Frank shook his head. He could not trust himself to speak.

"Hah! that's better," said the Prince. "Well, what have you to say in excuse for your conduct, before I order you to quit my service?"

"Nothing, your Highness."

"Humph! Very wise of you, sir. I hate lying excuses."

Frank darted a quick glance in the direction of the Princess, in the hope that she would intercede for him, as he saw himself sent off in disgrace, separated from the mother whom his father had bidden him to watch over and protect. The idea was horrible, and with his hands turning moist in the palms, and the dew gathering in fine drops about his temples, he felt ready to promise anything to ensure his stay at the Palace.

"I may tell you what I have heard from the officer in charge of the guard last night—everything which took place. What am I to think of one of my servants standing with his sword drawn to resist his Majesty's officer in the execution of his duty?"

"It was to defend my mother, sir," said Frank firmly. "Oh! Well, that is what a son should do, and that is some excuse. A lady I respect, and whom the Princess esteems. But this is very serious at a time like this, when his Majesty is surrounded by enemies; and there must be no more such acts as this, Mr Gowan. If you were a man, I should not have spoken as I do; you would have been dealt with by others. But as you are a mere thoughtless boy, ready to act on the impulse of the moment, and as, for your mother's sake, the Princess has interceded for you, I am disposed to look over it."

"Thank your Royal Highness," cried Frank, drawing a long, deep breath, full of relief.

"Now you may go back to your duties, and remember this: you are very young, and have good prospects before you. You are my servant now you are a boy; I hope you will be my servant still when you grow up to be a man. I shall want men whom I can trust—men to whom I can say 'Protect me,' and who will do it."

"Yes, your Highness, and I will," cried Frank eagerly, as he took a couple of steps forward. "So would my father, your Highness. He is a fine, brave, true soldier, and—"

"He has a son who believes in him. Well?"

"He was forced to fight, your Highness. You would not have believed in him as a soldier if he had refused, and it is so cruel and hard that he should have been sent away. Pray—pray ask the King to forgive him now."

"Humph! You are a very plain-spoken young gentleman," said the Prince sternly. "You draw your sword to protect your mother, and now I suppose if your father is not pardoned you will turn rebel and draw it again to protect him."

"Your Royal Highness has no right to think such a thing of me," said the boy, flushing warmly. "I was taught that I was to do my duty here."

"And very good teaching too, sir; but boys are very ready to forget what they are taught; and princes and kings have a right to think and say what they please."

"I beg your Royal Highness's pardon. You said you wanted faithful servants, and a truer and better man than my father never lived."

"Here, how old are you, young fellow?"

"Seventeen, your Highness."

"And you are arguing like a man of seven-and-forty. Well, it is a fine thing for a boy to be able to speak like that of his father, and I will not quarrel with you for being so plain. But look here, my boy: I am not the King."

"But your Royal Highness will be some day," said Frank excitedly, for he had the wild belief that he was going to carry the day.

"Humph! Perhaps, boy; but that is a bad argument to use. There, I will be plain with you. It does not rest with me to pardon your father."

"But his Majesty—" began the boy excitedly.

"I cannot ask his Majesty, boy," said the Prince sternly. "I am very angry to find that one of my attendants was mixed up with last night's troubles; but, as I told you, at the intercession of the Princess, I am disposed to look over it, if you promise me that in future you will be more careful, and do your duty as my servant should."

"I will, your Highness.—But my poor father?"

"Must wait until his Majesty is disposed to pardon his offence. Go."

The Prince waved his hand toward the door, and then for a moment or two he looked startled, for in a quick, impulsive way the boy darted forward and caught the raised hand.

The sudden movement startled the Princess too, and she sprang from her chair; but the look of alarm passed from her eyes as she saw the boy bending down to kiss the Prince's hand, and as he let it fall she held out her own.

Frank saw the movement, and the next instant he was down on one knee, kissing it, and rose to give the Princess a smile full of gratitude.

At that moment he felt his shoulder heavily grasped by the Prince.

"Good lad!" he said. "Go to your duties. I see I shall have in you a servant I can trust."

Frank did not know how he got out of the room, for his head was in a whirl, and he did not thoroughly come to himself till he had been seated for some time by his mother's couch and had told her all that had passed.

But somehow Lady Gowan did not look happy, and when she parted from her son there was a wistful look in her eyes which told of a greater trouble than that of which the boy was aware.

"Of course," said Andrew Forbes, when he had drawn the full account of the boy's experiences from him; "but you need not be so precious enthusiastic over it. You had done nothing, though plenty of people get hung nowadays for that."

"But he was very kind and nice to me."

"Kind and nice!" said Andrew, with a sneer. "That was his artfulness. He wants to make all the friends he can against a rainy day—his rainy day. He's thinking of being king; but he won't be. I do know that."

Frank gave him an angry look, and turned away; but his companion caught his arm.

"Don't go, Frank; that was only one of my snarls. I'm not so generous and ready to believe in people as you are."

Frank remembered his companion's position and his confidence about his father, and turned back.

"I can't bear to hear you talk like that."

"Slipped out," said Andrew hurriedly. "There, then, it's all right again for you. But there's no mistake about your having a good friend in the Princess."



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

FRANK BOILS OVER.

There seemed to be a good deal of excitement about the court one day; people were whispering together, and twice over, as Frank was approaching, he noted that they either ceased talking or turned their backs upon him and walked away. But he took no further notice of it then, for his mind was very full of his father, of whom he had not heard for some time.

His mother had seemed terribly troubled and anxious when he had met her, but he shrank from asking her the cause, feeling that his father's long silence was telling upon her; and in the hope of getting news he went again and again to the house in Queen Anne Street, ascended to the drawing-room, and opened the picture-panelled closet door.

But it was for nothing. The housekeeper had told him that Sir Robert had not been; but thinking that his father could have let himself in unknown to the old servant, Frank clung to the hope that he might have been, deposited a letter, and gone again, possibly in the night. In every visit, though, he was disappointed, but contented himself by thinking that his father had acted wisely, and felt that it was not safe to come for fear that he might be watched.

It was nearly a week since he had been to the house, and he was longing for an opportunity to go again, but opportunity had not served, and he came to the conclusion that he would slip off that very afternoon, after exacting a promise from Andrew Forbes that he would keep in the anteroom ready to attend to any little duty which might require the presence of one of the pages.

To his surprise, though, Andrew was nowhere to be seen. To have inquired after him would only have served to draw attention to his absence, so he contented himself with waiting patiently, but minute by minute he grew more anxious, feeling convinced that something must have occurred.

"Whatever has happened?" he said to himself at last, as he saw officers begin to arrive and be ushered into the Prince's room; but why, there was no chance for him to know, as there was no one to whom he could apply for information, and at last he sat alone in the great blank saloon, fidgeting as if he were upon thorns, and inventing all manner of absurd reasons to account for his companion's absence.

"I know," he said to himself at last; "he has noticed that there is something on the way, and gone out to try and pick up news. He'll be here directly."

But he was wrong. Andrew did not come, and several little things occurred to show him that there was undue excitement about the place.

At last his suspense came to an end, as he sat alone, for Andrew appeared looking flushed and excited, glanced sharply round as soon as he was inside the door, caught sight of his friend, and half ran to join him.

"Oh, here you are, then, at last!" cried Frank.

"At last," said the lad.

"Yes; where have you been—news-hunting?"

"Yes," he whispered excitedly; "news-hunting, and I ran it down."

"What is it? There are three officers with the Prince, and I heard some one say that a messenger was to be despatched to bring the King back to town."

"Did you hear that?" cried Andrew excitedly.

"Yes."

"Ah!" ejaculated Andrew.

"What is it? A riot?"

"Yes, a very big riot, lad; a very, very big one. Now we shall see."

"It doesn't seem likely for it to be we," said Frank sarcastically. "Why don't you out with it, and tell me what's the matter?"

"Oh, two things; but haven't you heard?"

"Of course not, or I shouldn't be begging and praying of you to speak."

"I found a letter from the dad, that's one thing, and he told me what I find the place is ringing with."

"Something about bells?" said Frank, laughing.

"Yes, if you like," said Andrew wildly. "The tocsin. War, my lad, war!"

"What! with France?"

"No; England. At last. The King has landed."

"I say, are you going mad?"

"Yes, with excitement. Frank, the game has begun, and we must throw up everything now, and join hands with the good men and true who are going to save our country."

"Bah! You've got one of your fits on again," cried Frank contemptuously; "what a gunpowder fizgig you are!"

"Look here!" said Andrew, in an angry whisper; "this is no time for boyish folly. We must be men. The crisis has come, and this miserable sham reign is pretty well at an end."

"The Prince is in yonder," said Frank warningly.

"Prince!" said Drew contemptuously; "I know no Prince but James Francis Stuart. Now, listen; there must be no shilly-shallying on your part; we want every true patriot to draw the sword for his country."

"Ah well, I'm not what you call a true patriot, and so I shan't draw mine."

"Bah!" ejaculated Drew.

"And bah!" cried Frank. "Don't you play the fool,—unless you want some one to hear you," he continued, in a warning whisper.

"What do I care? I have had great news from my father, and the time has at last come when we must strike for freedom."

"Are you mad? Do you know where you are?" cried Frank, catching him by the arm.

"Not mad, and I know perfectly where I am. Look here, Frank; there must be no more nonsense. I tell you the time has come to strike. Our friends have landed, or are about to land. There is going to be a complete revolution, and before many hours the House of Hanover will be a thing of the past, and the rightful monarch of the House of Stuart will be on the throne."

"Then you are mad," said Frank, with another uneasy glance at the curtained door beyond where they stood, "or you would never talk like this."

"I shall talk how I please now," cried the lad excitedly. "Let them do their worst. I feel ready to wait till the Prince comes out, and then draw my sword and shout, 'God save King James the Third!'"

"No, you are not. You would not so insult one who has always behaved well to you."

"Bah! I am nobody. I don't count. How have he and his behaved to my poor father and to yours? Frank, I know I'm wildly excited, and feel intoxicated by the joyful news; but I know what I am talking about, and I will not have you behave in this miserable, cold-blooded way, when our fathers are just about to receive their freedom and come back to their rights."

"It's no use to argue with you when you're in this state," said Frank coldly; "but I won't sit here and have you say things which may lead to your being punished. I should be a poor sort of friend if I did."

"Pah! Have you no warm blood in you, that you sit there as cool as a frog when I bring you such glorious news?"

"It isn't glorious," said Frank. "It means horrible bloodshed, ruin, and disaster to hundreds or thousands of misguided men."

"Misguided! Do you know what you are talking about?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"Have you no feeling for your father and mother's sufferings?"

"Leave my father and mother out of the question, please."

"I can't. I know you're not a coward, Frank; but you're like a stupid, stubborn blood-horse that wants the whip or spur to make him go. When he does begin, there's no holding him."

"Then don't you begin to use whip or spur, Drew, in case."

"But I will. I must now. It is for your good. I'm not going to stand by and see you and your mother crushed in the toppling-down ruins of this falling house. Do you hear me? The time has come, and we want every one of our friends, young and old, to strike a good bold blow for liberty."

"Let your friends be as mad as they like," said Frank angrily. "I'm not going to stand by either and see Drew Forbes go to destruction."

"Bah!—to victory. There, no more arguing. You are one of us, and you must come out of your shell now, and take your place."

"I'm not one of you," said Frank sturdily, and too warm now to think of the danger of speaking aloud; "I was tricked into saying something or joining in while others said it, and I am not a Jacobite, and I never will be!"

"I tell you that you are one."

"Have it so if you like; but it's in name only, and I'll show you that I am not in deed. You talked about crying before the Prince, 'God save King James!' God save King George! There!"

He spoke out loudly now, but repented the next moment, for fear that he should have dared his companion to execute his threat.

"Coward!" cried Andrew. "The miserable German usurper who has banished your father!"

"You said that you knew I was not a coward."

"Then I retract it. You are if you try to hang back now."

"Call me what you like, I'll have nothing to do with it. They don't want boys."

"They do—every one; and you must come and fight."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, or be punished as a traitor."

"Let them come and punish me, then," said Frank hotly. "I wear a sword, and I know how to use it."

"Then come and use it like a man. Come, Frank. Don't pretend that you are going to show the white feather."

"I don't."

"It is monstrous!" panted the lad, who was wildly excited by his enthusiasm. "I want you—my friend—to stand by me now at a critical time, and you treat me like this. I can't understand it when you know that your father is a staunch supporter of the royal cause."

"Of course I do. What's that got to do with it? Do you think because he has been sent away that he would forget his oath to the King?"

"I said the royal cause, not the usurper's."

"It is false. My father is still in the King's service, waiting for his recall."

"Your father is my father's friend, as I am yours, and he is now holding a high command in King James's army."

"It's not true, Drew; it's one of your tricks to get me to go with you, and do what I faithfully promised I never would do. You know it's false. High in command in King James's army! Why, he has no army, so it can't be true."

"I tell you, it is true. My father and yours are both generals."

"Look here," said Frank, turning and speaking now in an angry whisper, "you're going too far, Drew. I don't want to quarrel—I hate to quarrel. Perhaps I am like a stubborn horse; but I did warn you not to use the whip or spur, and you will keep on doing it. Please let it drop. You're making me feel hot, and when I feel like that my head goes queer, and I hit out and keep on hitting, and feel sorry for it afterwards. I always did at school, and I should feel ten times as sorry if I hit you. Now you sit down, and hold your tongue before you're heard and get into a terrible scrape."

"Sit down! At a time like this!" cried the lad. "Oh, will nothing stir you? Are you such a cowardly cur that you are going to hide yourself among the German petticoats about the Palace? I tell you, it is true: General Sir Robert Gowan throws up his hat for the King."

"Cowardly cur yourself!" cried Frank, whose rage had been bubbling up to boiling-point for the last ten minutes and now burst forth.

"Miserable traitor! I thought better of you!" cried Andrew bitterly. "Pah! Friends! You are not worth the notice of a gentleman. Out of the way, you wretched cur!"

He struck Frank sharply across the face with his glove, as he stepped forward to pass, and quick as lightning the boy replied with a blow full in the cheek, which sent him staggering back, so that he would have fallen had it not been for the wall.

In an instant court rules and regulations were forgotten. The boys knew that they wore swords, and these flashed from their scabbards, ornaments no longer, and the next moment they crossed, the blades gritted together, thrust and parry followed, and each showed that the instructions he had received were not in vain.

What would have been the result cannot be told, save that it would have been bitter repentance for the one who had sent his blade home; but before any mischief had been done in the furious encounter, the doors at either end of the anteroom were opened, and the Prince and the officers from the audience chamber with the guards from the staircase landing rushed in, the former narrowly escaping a thrust from Andrew's sword, as with his own weapon he beat down the boys'.

"How dare you!" he cried.

"Now!" cried Andrew defiantly to Frank, as he stood quivering with rage—"now is your time. Speak out; tell the whole truth."

"Yes, the whole truth," said the Prince sternly. "What does this brawl mean?"

Frank did not hesitate for a moment.

"It was my fault, your Royal Highness," he cried, panting. "We quarrelled; I lost my temper and struck him."

"Who dared to draw?" thundered the Prince.

"We both drew together, your Royal Highness," cried Frank hurriedly, for fear that Andrew should be beforehand with him; "but I think I was almost the first."

"You insolent young dogs!" cried the Prince; "how dare you brawl and fight here!—Take away their swords; such boys are not fit to be trusted with weapons. As for you, sir," he said, turning fiercely on Frank, "like father like son, as you English people say. And you, sir—you are older," he cried to Andrew. "There, take them away, and keep them till I have decided how they shall be punished.—Come back to my room, gentlemen. Such an interruption is a disgrace to the court."

He turned and walked toward the door, followed by the three officers, one of whom on entering looked back at the lads and smiled, as if he did not think that much harm had been done.

But neither of the lads saw, for Andrew was whispering maliciously to Frank:

"You dared not speak. You knew how I should be avenged."

"Yes, I dared; but I wasn't going to be such a coward," cried Frank sharply.

"Ah, stop that!" cried the officer who held the boys' swords, and had just given orders to his men to take their places in front and rear of his prisoners. "Do you want to begin again? Hang it all! wait till you get to the guardroom, if you must fight."

"Don't speak to me like that!" cried Andrew fiercely. "It is not the custom to insult prisoners, I believe."

"Forward! march!" said the officer; and then, to Frank's annoyance, as well as that of Andrew, he saw that the officer was laughing at them, and that the men were having hard work to keep their countenances.

Five minutes later they had been marched down the staircase, across the courtyard, to the entrance of the guardroom, where, to Frank's great mortification, the first person he saw was Captain Murray.

"Hallo! what's this?" he cried. "Prisoners? What have you lads been about?"

"Fighting," said Frank sullenly, Andrew compressing his lips and staring haughtily before him, as if he felt proud, of his position.

"Fighting! With fists?" cried Captain Murray.

"Oh no," said the officer of the guard; "quite correctly. Here are their skewers."

"But surely not anywhere here?"

"Oh yes," said the officer mirthfully; "up in the anteroom, right under the Prince's nose."

"Tut—tut—tut!" ejaculated Captain Murray, half angry, half amused.

"The Prince came between them, and the tall cock nearly sent his spur through him," continued the officer. "I s'pose this means the Tower and the block, doesn't it, Murray? or shall we have the job to shoot 'em before breakfast to-morrow morning?"

"If I were only free," cried Andrew, turning fiercely on the officer, "you would not dare to insult me then."

"Then I'm very glad you are not. I say, why in the name of wonder are you not in the service, my young fire-eater? You are not in your right place as a page."

"Because—because—"

"Stop! that will do, young man," said Captain Murray sternly. "Let him be," he continued to his brother-officer. "The lad is beside himself with passion."

"Oh, I've done; but are they to be put together? They'll be at each other's throats again."

"No, they will not," said Captain Murray. "Frank, give me your word as your father's son that this quarrel is quite at an end."

"Oh yes, I've done," said the boy quickly.

"And you, Mr Forbes?"

"No," cried Andrew fiercely. "I shall make no promises. And as for you, Frank Gowan, I repeat what I said to you: every word is true."

"You think it is," said Frank quietly, "or you wouldn't have said it. But it isn't true. It couldn't be."

"That will do, young gentlemen," said Captain Murray sternly. "I should have thought you could have cooled down now. Now, Mr Forbes, will you give me your word that you will behave to your fellow-prisoner like a gentleman, and save me the unpleasant duty of placing you in the cell."

"Yes. Come, Drew," said Frank appealingly. "We were both wrong. I'll answer for him, Captain Murray."

"Well, one can't quarrel if the other will not. You can both have my room while you are under arrest. Place a sentry at their door," and turning to his brother-officer, and, giving Frank a nod, as he looked at him sadly and sternly, Captain Murray walked away.

A few minutes later the key of the door was turned upon them, and they heard one of the guard placed on sentry duty outside.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

"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?"