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?”
“Senseless brawl” made the boy wince again.
“It would have been very horrible, mother,” he said, in a low voice.
“It would have killed me. Why was it? What was the cause?”
“Oh, it was an affair of honour, mother,” said Frank evasively.
“An affair of honour!” cried Lady Gowan scornfully; “a boy like you daring to speak to me like that! Honour, sir! Where is the honour? It comes of boys like you two, little better than children, being allowed to carry weapons. Do you not know that it is an honour to a gentleman to wear a sword, because it is supposed that he would be the last to draw it, save in some terrible emergency for his defence or to preserve another’s life, and not at the first hasty word spoken? Had you no consideration for me? Could you not see how painful my position is at the court, that you must give me this fresh trouble to bear?”
“Yes, mother; you know how I think of you. I couldn’t help it.”
“Shame! Could not help it! Is this the result of your education—you, growing toward manhood—my son to tell me this unblushingly, to give me this pitiful excuse—you could not help it? Why was it, sir?”
“Well, mother, we quarrelled. Drew is so hot-tempered and passionate.”
“And you are perfectly innocent, and free from all such attributes, I suppose, sir,” cried Lady Gowan sarcastically.
“Oh no, I’m not, mother,” said the lad bluntly, as he felt he would give anything to get away. “I’ve got a nasty, passionate temper; but I’m all right if it isn’t roused and Drew will keep on till he rouses it.”
“Pitiful! Worse and worse!” cried Lady Gowan. “All this arose, I suppose, out of some contemptible piece of banter or teasing. He said something to you, then, that you did not like?”
“Yes,” said Frank eagerly, “that was it.”
“And pray what did he say?”
“Say—oh—er—he said—oh, it was nothing much.”
“Speak out—the truth, sir,” cried Lady Gowan, fixing her eyes upon her son’s.
“Oh, he said—something I did not like, mother.”
“What was it, sir? I insist upon knowing.”
“Oh, it was nothing much.”
“Let me be the judge of that, sir. I, as your mother, would be only too glad to find that you had some little excuse for such conduct.”
“And then,” continued Frank hurriedly, “I got put out, and—and I called him a liar.”
“What was it he said?”
“And then he struck me over the face with his glove, mother, and I couldn’t stand that, and I hit out, and sent him staggering against the wall.”
“Why?—what for?” insisted Lady Gowan.
“And in a moment he whipped out his sword and attacked me, and of course I had to draw, or he would have run me through.”
“Is that true, sir—Andrew Forbes drew on you first?”
“Of course it’s true, mother,” said the lad proudly. “Did I ever tell you a lie?”
“Never, my boy,” said Lady Gowan firmly. “It has been my proud boast to myself that I could trust my son in everything.”
“Then why did you ask me in that doubting way if it was true?”
“Because my son is prevaricating with me, and speaking in a strange, evasive way. He never spoke to me like that before. Do you think me blind, Frank? Do you think that I, upon whom your tiny eyes first opened—your mother, who has watched you with all a mother’s love from your birth, cannot read every change in your countenance? Do you think I cannot see that you are fighting hard to keep something back?—you, whom I have always been so proud to think were as frank by nature as you are by name? Come, be honest with me. You are hiding something from me?”
“Yes, mother,” cried the lad, throwing back his head and speaking defiantly now, “I am.”
“Then tell me what it is at once. I am your mother, from whom nothing should be hid. If the matter is one for which you feel shame, if it is some wrong-doing, the more reason that you should come to me, my boy, and confide in me, that I may take you once again to my heart, and kneel with you, that we may together pray for forgiveness and the strength to be given to save you from such another sin.”
“Mother,” cried the boy passionately, “I have not sinned in this!”
“Ah!—Then what is it?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“Frank, if ever there was a time when mother and son should be firmly tied in mutual confidence, it is now. I have no one to cling to but you, and you hold me at a distance like this.”
“Yes, yes; but I cannot tell you.”
“You think so, my boy; but don’t keep it from me.”
“Mother,” cried Frank wildly, “I must!”
“You shall not, my boy. I will know.”
“I cannot tell you.”
He held out his hands to her imploringly, but she drew back from him, and her eyes seemed to draw the truth he strove so hard to keep hidden from his unwilling lips.
“There, then!” he cried passionately; “I bore it as long as I could: because he insulted my father—it was to defend his honour that I struck him, and we fought.”
“You drew to defend your father’s honour,” said Lady Gowan hoarsely; and her face looked drawn and her lips white.
“Yes, that was it. Is it so childish of me to say that I could not help that?”
“No,” said Lady Gowan, in a painful whisper. “How did he insult your father? What did he say?”
“Must I tell you?”
“Yes.”
Frank drew a long, deep, sobbing breath, and his voice sounded broken and strange, as he said in a low, passionate voice:
“He dared to insult my father—he said he was false to the King—that he had broken his oath as a soldier—that he was a miserable rebel and Jacobite, and had gone over to the Pretender’s side.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Lady Gowan, shrinking back into the corner of the couch, and covering her face with her hands.
“Mother, forgive me!” cried the lad, throwing himself upon his knees, and trying to draw her hands from her face. “I could not speak. It seemed so horrible to have to tell you such a cruel slander as that. I could not help it. I should have struck at anybody who said it, even if it had been the Prince himself.”
Lady Gowan let her son draw her hands from her white, drawn face, and sat back gazing wildly in his eyes.
“Oh, mother!” he cried piteously, “can you think this a sin? Don’t look at me like that.”
She uttered a passionate cry, clasped him to her breast, and let her face sink upon his shoulder, sobbing painfully the while.
“I knew what pain it would give you, dear,” he whispered, with his lips to her ear; “but you made me tell you. I was obliged to fight him. Father would have been ashamed of me, and called me a miserable coward, if I had not stood up for him as I did.”
“Then—then—he said that of your father?” faltered Lady Gowan, with her convulsed face still hidden.
“Yes.”
“And you denied it, Frank.”
“Of course,” cried the lad proudly; “and then we fought, and I did not know what was happening till the Prince came and struck down our swords.”
Lady Gowan raised her piteous-looking face, pressed her son back from her, and rose from the couch.
“Go now, my boy,” she said, in a low, agonised voice.
“Back to prison?” he said. “But tell me first that you are not so angry with me. I can’t feel that I was so wrong.”
“No, no, my boy—no, I cannot blame you,” sighed Lady Gowan.
“And you forgive me, mother?”
“Forgive you? Oh, my own, true, brave lad, it is not your fault, but that of these terrible times. Go now, I can bear no more.”
“Say that once again,” whispered Frank, clinging to her.
“I cannot speak, my darling. I am suffering more than I can tell you. There, leave me, dearest. I want to be alone, to think and pray for help in this terrible time of affliction. Frank, I am nearly broken-hearted.”
“And I have been the cause,” he said sadly.
“You? Oh no, no, my own, brave, true boy. I never felt prouder of you than I do now. Go back. I must think. Then I will see the Princess. The Prince is not so very angry with you, and he will forgive you when he knows the truth.”
“And you, mother?”
“I?” cried the poor woman passionately. “Heaven help me! I do not feel that I have anything to forgive.”
Lady Gowan embraced her son once more, and stood looking after him as he descended the stairs, while Frank walked over to his prison with head erect and a flush of pride in his cheeks.
“There,” he muttered, as he passed the sentry, “let them say or do what they like; I don’t care now.”
Chapter Twenty Seven.
The Breach widens.
Andrew started from his seat as Frank entered the room and the door was closed and locked behind him; but, seeing who it was, he sat down again with his face averted.
“Shall I tell him?” thought Frank. “No; it would be like triumphing over him to show him I have found out that he has been trying to cheat me into going off.”
The boy felt so satisfied and at ease that he was more and more unwilling to hurt his fellow-prisoner’s feelings, and after a while he spoke.
“I suppose they’ll give us something to eat,” he said.
Andrew looked up at him in astonishment, but only to frown the next moment and turn his head away again.
Frank went to the window and stood looking out, one corner commanding a view of the Park; and after watching the people come and go for some time, he suddenly turned to his companion:
“Here are the Horse Guards coming, Drew. Want to see them?”
“No. Will you have the goodness to leave me in peace?”
“No,” said Frank quietly. “How can I? We’re shut up together here perhaps for ever so long, and we can’t keep up that miserable quarrel now. Hadn’t we better shake hands?”
“What do you suppose I’m made of?” said Andrew fiercely.
“Same stuff as I am,” replied Frank almost as sharply; “and as I’ve shown myself ready to forgive and forget what has happened, you ought to do the same.”
But it was of no use. Try how he would to draw Andrew into conversation, the latter refused to speak; and at last the boy gave up in despair, and began to look about the captain’s room for something out of which he could drag some amusement. This last he had to extract from one of the books on a shelf; but it proved dry and uninteresting, though it is doubtful whether one of the most cheery nature would have held his attention long. For he had so much to think about that his mind refused to grasp the meaning of the different sentences, and one minute he was wondering whether his father would venture to the house, the next he was going over the scene of the quarrel in the antechamber. Then he thought sadly about his interview with his mother, but only to feel elated and happy, though it was mingled with sorrow at having given her so much pain.
A little resentment began to spring up, too, against Andrew, as the true cause of it all, but it did not last; he felt far too much at rest for that, and the anger gave way to pity for the high-spirited, excitable lad seated there in the deepest dejection, and he began to wish now that he had not called him a liar and struck him.
“I shall go melancholy mad,” muttered Frank at last, “if they keep us shut up long, and Drew goes on like this. But I wonder whether there will really be a rising against the King?”
Curiosity made him try to be communicative, and he turned to his silent companion.
“Think there really will be any fighting?” he said.
Andrew turned to him sharply.
“Why do you ask?” he said.
“Simple reason: because I want to know.”
“You have some other reason.”
“Because I want to send word to the Prince that you are a rebel, and intend to go and join the Pretender’s followers, of course,” said Frank sarcastically. “Don’t be so spiteful, Drew. We can’t live here like this. Why don’t you let bygones be bygones?”
“What interest can it be to you?” said Andrew, ignoring the latter part of his fellow-prisoner’s remark.
“Do you suppose such a rising can take place without its being of interest to every one? There, we won’t talk about it unless you like. Look here, I can’t sit still doing nothing; it gives me pins and needles in my hands and feet. I’ll ring and ask Captain Murray to let us have a draught board if you’ll play.”
“Pish!” cried Andrew contemptuously; and Frank sighed and gave up again, to take refuge in staring out of the window for some time.
Then his tongue refused to be quiet, and he cried to his silent companion:
“There is something going on for certain. I’ve counted twelve officers go by since I’ve been standing here.”
There was no heed paid to his remark, and at last the boy drew a breath full of relief, for he heard steps on the stairs, the sentry’s piece rattled, and then the key turned in the lock, and Captain Murray entered, looking very stern.
“Frank Gowan,” he said, “you give me your parole d’honneur that you will not do anything foolish in the way of attempting to escape?”
“Oh yes, of course, sir,” said the boy. “I don’t want to escape.”
“That’s right. And you, Andrew Forbes?”
“No; I shall make no promises,” was the reply.
“Don’t be foolish, my lad. You ought to have cooled down by this time. Give me your word: it will make your position bearable, and mine easy.”
“I shall give no promises,” said Andrew haughtily. “I have been arrested, and brought here a prisoner, and I shall act as a prisoner would.”
“Try to escape? Don’t attempt to do anything so foolish, my lad. I will speak out like a friend to you. There has been some important news brought to the Palace; the guard has been quadrupled in number, double sentries have been placed, and they would fire at any one attempting to pass the gates without the word to-night. Now, give me your promise.”
“I—will—not,” said Andrew, speaking firmly, and meeting the captain’s eyes without shrinking.
“Don’t be so foolish, Drew,” whispered Frank.
“I shall do as I think best,” was the reply. “You are at liberty to do the same, sir.”
“Very well,” said Captain Murray, interrupting them. “Perhaps you will be more sensible and manly after a night’s rest. I did not expect to find a lad of your years behaving like a spiteful girl.”
Andrew’s eyes flashed at him; but the captain paid no heed, and went on:
“I have spoken to the colonel, Frank, and for your father’s sake he will be glad to see you at the mess table this evening. You are free of it while you are under arrest. I will come for you in half an hour. By the way, I have told my man to come to you for instructions about getting your kit from your room. You will use him while you are a prisoner.”
“Oh, thank you, Captain Murray,” cried the boy eagerly.
“Pray make use of my servant, Mr Forbes, and order him to fetch what you require.”
Andrew bowed coldly, and the captain left the room, his servant tapping at the door directly after, and entering to receive his orders from Frank.
“Now, Drew,” he said at last, “tell him what to fetch for you.”
“I do not require anything,” said the youth coldly. “Yes, look here. There is a little desk on the table in my room; bring me that.”
“Hadn’t you better give in, and make the best of things?” said Frank, as soon as they were alone.
“Had you not better leave me to myself, Frank Gowan?” said Andrew coldly. “We are no longer friends, but enemies.”
“No, we can’t be that,” cried Frank. “Come; once more, shake hands.”
Andrew looked at him for a few moments fixedly, and then said slowly:
“Come, that’s better.”
“On the day when your King George is humbled to the dust, and you are, with all here, a helpless prisoner. I’ll shake hands and forgive you then.”
“Not till then?” cried Frank, flushing.
“Not till then.”
“Which means that we are never to be friends again, Drew. Nonsense! You are still angry. Captain Murray is right.”
“That I speak like a spiteful girl!” cried the lad sharply.
“No, I did not mean that,” said Frank quietly; “but if I had meant it, I should not have been very far from right. I hope that you will think differently after a night’s rest. Come, think differently now, and give up all those mad thoughts which have done nothing but make us fall out. It isn’t too late. Captain Murray is trying to make things pleasant for us; tell him when he comes that you’ll dine with him.”
Andrew made an angry gesture, and Frank shrugged his shoulders, went into the adjoining room to wash his hands, and came back just as the tramp of soldiers was heard outside, the order was given for them to halt, and then followed their heavy footsteps on the stairs.
The next minute Captain Murray entered the room.
“Ready, bloodthirsty prisoner?” he said, smiling.
“Yes, sir, quite,” replied Frank; while Andrew sat at the other end of the room with his back to them.
Frank glanced in his fellow-prisoner’s direction, and then turned back to the captain, and his lips moved quickly as he made a gesture in Andrew’s direction.
The captain read his meaning, nodded, walked up to the lad, and touched him on the shoulder, making him start to his feet.
“Life’s very short, Andrew Forbes,” he said quietly, “and soldiers are obliged to look upon it as shorter for them than for other men. It isn’t long enough to nurse quarrels or bear malice. I think I have heard you say that you hope to be a soldier some day.”
“Yes, I do,” said the lad, with a meaning which the captain could not grasp.
“Very well, then; act now like a frank soldier to another who says to you, try and forget this trouble, and help every one to make it easier for you. There’s care enough coming, my lad; and I may tell you that the Prince has enough to think about without troubling himself any more over the mad prank of two high-spirited boys. There, I’ll wait for you; go into my room, and wash your hands and smooth your face. I venture to say that you will both get a wigging to-morrow, and then be told to go back to your duties.”
Andrew did not budge, and the captain’s face grew more stern.
“Come on, Drew,” cried Frank; but the lad turned away.
“Yes, come along,” cried the captain; “a good dinner will do you both good, and make you ready to laugh at your morning’s quarrel. Do you hear?”
There was no reply.
“You are not acting like a hero, my lad,” said the captain, smiling once more.
Still there was no reply.
“Very well, sir; you refuse your parole, and I can say no more. I have my duty to do, and I cannot offer you my hospitality here. You are still under arrest.”
He walked to the door, threw it open, made a sign, and a corporal and two Guardsmen marched in.
“Take this gentleman to the guardroom,” he said. “Your officer has his instructions concerning him.”
“Oh, Drew!” whispered Frank; but the lad drew himself up, and took a few steps forward, placing himself between the Guards, and kept step with them as they marched out and down the stairs.
The next minute their steps were heard on the paving-stones without, and Frank darted to the window, to stand gazing out, feeling half choked with sorrow for his friend.
A touch on the arm made him remember that Captain Murray was waiting.
“It’s a pity, Frank,” he said; “but I did all I could. He’s a bit too high-spirited, my lad. The best thing for him will be the army; the discipline would do him good.”
Frank longed to speak, but he felt that his lips were sealed.
“Well, we must not let a bit of hot temper spoil our dinner, my lad. By the way, what news of your father?”
“None, sir,” said the boy sadly, though the thought of what Andrew Forbes had said made him wince.
“Humph!” said Captain Murray, looking at the boy curiously. “There, I don’t want to pump you. Tell him next time you write that there will be a grand night at the mess when he comes back to his old place. Now, then, we shall be late.”
“Would you mind excusing me, sir?” said Frank.
“Yes, very much. Nonsense! You must be quite hungry by now.”
“No: I was; but it’s all gone.”
“Hah!” said the captain, gripping him by the shoulder; “you’re your father’s own boy, Frank. I like that, but I can’t have it. You accepted the invitation, and I want you, my lad. Never mind Andrew Forbes; he only requires time to cool down. He’ll be ready to shake hands in the morning. Come, or we shall get in disgrace for being late.”
Frank was marched off to the messroom; but he felt as if every mouthful would choke him, and that he would have given anything to have gone and shared Andrew Forbes’s confinement, even if he had only received hard words for his pains.
Chapter Twenty Eight.
A Night Alarm.
It was very plain to Frank that the officers did not look upon his offence in a very serious light, for the younger men received him with a cheer, and the elders with a smile, as they shook hands, while the doctor came and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Hallo, young fire-eater!” he cried; “when are you coming to stay?”
“To stay, sir?” said the boy, feeling puzzled.
“Yes, with your commission. We’ve lost your father. We must have you to take his place.”
“No, sir,” said Frank, flushing. “I don’t want to take my father’s place. I want to see him back in it.”
“Well said!” cried the colonel; “what we all want. But get to be a bit more of a man, and then coax the Prince to give you a commission. I think we can make room for Robert Gowan’s son in the corps, gentlemen?”
There was a chorus of assent at this; and the colonel went on:
“Come and sit by me, my lad. We can find a chair for you and your guest, Murray, at this end. Why, you’re not fit for a page, my lad; they want soft, smooth, girlish fellows for that sort of thing. A young firebrand like you, ready to whip out his sword and use it, is the stuff for a soldier.”
Frank wished the old officer would hold his tongue, and not draw attention to him, for every one at the table was listening, and Captain Murray sat smiling with grim satisfaction. But the colonel went on:
“Very glad to see you here this evening, my boy. Why, I hear that you are quite a favourite with the Prince.”
“It does not seem like it, sir,” said Frank, who was beginning to feel irritated. “I am a prisoner.”
There was a laugh at this, which ran rippling down the table.
“Not bad quarters for a prisoner, eh, gentlemen?” said the colonel. “Pooh! my lad, you are only under arrest; and we are very glad you are, for it gives us the opportunity of having the company of Robert Gowan’s son.”
Frank flushed with pleasure to find how warmly his father’s name was received; and the colonel went on:
“Don’t you trouble your head about being under arrest, boy. The Prince was obliged to have you marched off. It wouldn’t do for him to have every young spark drawing and getting up a fight in the Palace. By the way, what was the quarrel about? You struck young Forbes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, of course he would draw upon you; but how came you to strike him?”
The boy hesitated; but the colonel’s keen eyes were fixed upon him so steadfastly, that he felt that he must speak and clear himself of the suspicion of being a mere quarrelsome schoolboy, and he said firmly:
“He said insulting things about my father, sir.” There was a chorus of approval at this; and as soon as there was silence, the colonel looked smilingly round the table:
“I think we might forgive this desperate young culprit for committing that heinous offence, gentlemen. What do you say?”
There was a merry laugh at this; and the colonel turned to the lad.
“We all forgive you, Mr Gowan. It is unanimous. Now, I think we are a little hard upon you; so pray go on with your dinner.”
“I don’t think his arrest will last long, sir,” said Captain Murray, after a while.
“Pooh! No: I’m afraid not,” said the colonel; “and we shall lose our young friend’s company. The Prince is a good soldier himself, even if he is a German. Gowan will hear no more of it, I should say; and I don’t want to raise his hopes unduly, but on the strength of this rising, when we want all good supporters of his Majesty in their places, I should say that the occasion will be made one for sending word to Captain Sir Robert Gowan to come back to his company.”
Frank flushed again, and looked at Captain Murray, who smiled and nodded.
“By the way, Murray,” said the colonel, “why did you not bring the other young desperado to dinner?” The captain shrugged his shoulders. “A bit sulky,” he said. “Feels himself ill-used.”
“Oh!” ejaculated the colonel; and seeing Frank’s troubled face, he changed the conversation, beginning to talk about the news of a rising in the north, where certain officers were reported to have landed, and where the Pretender, James Francis, was expected to place himself at their head, and march for London.
“A foolish, mad project, I say, gentlemen,” exclaimed the colonel; “and whatever my principles may have been, I am a staunch servant of his Majesty King George the First, and the enemy of all who try and disturb the peace of the realm.”
A burst of applause followed these words; and the conversation became general, giving Frank the opportunity for thinking over the colonel’s words, and of what a triumph it would be for his father to return and take up his old position.
“Poor old Drew!” he said to himself, with a sigh. “What would he think if he heard them talking about its being a mad project?”
Then he went on thinking about how miserable his old companion must be in the guardroom, watched by sentries; and as he kept on eating for form’s sake, every mouthful seemed to go against him, and he wished the dinner was over. For, in addition to these thoughts, others terribly painful would keep troubling him, the place being full of sad memories. He recalled that he was sitting in the very seat occupied by the German baron upon that unlucky evening; and the whole scene of the angry encounter came vividly back, even to the words that were spoken. The natural sequence to this was his being called by Andrew Forbes in the dull grey of the early morning to go and witness that terrible sword fight in the Park; and he could hardly repress a shudder as he seemed to see the German’s blade flashing and playing about his father’s breast, till the two thrusts were delivered, one of which nearly brought the baron’s career to a close.
Nothing could have been kinder than the treatment the young guest received from the officers; but nothing could have been more painful to the lad, and again and again he wished himself away as the dinner dragged its slow length along, and he sat there feeling lonely, occupied toward the end almost entirely with thoughts of his father, Andrew’s false charge about him being generally uppermost, and raising the indignant colour to his cheeks.
“I wonder where he is now,” he thought, “and what he is doing?”
Then once more about what delight his mother would feel if the colonel’s ideas came to pass, and Sir Robert came back in triumph.
“Oh, it’s too good to be true,” thought the boy; but he clung to the hope all the same.
The only time when he was relieved from the pressure of his sad thoughts was when the conversation around grew animated respecting the probabilities of the country being devastated by civil war; but even then it made his heart ache on Andrew Forbes’s account, as he heard the quiet contempt with which the elder officers treated the Pretender’s prospects, the colonel especially speaking strongly on the subject.
“No,” he said, “England will never rise in favour of such a monarch as that. It is a mad business, that will never win support. The poor fellow had better settle down quietly to his life in France. The reign of the Stuarts is quite at an end.”
“Poor old Drew,” thought Frank. “I wish he could have heard that; but he would not have believed if he had.”
Then the officers went on talking of the possibility of their regiment being called upon for active service, and the boy could not help a feeling of wonder at the eager hopes they expressed of having to take part in that which would probably result in several of those present losing their lives or being badly wounded.
“I wonder whether I shall be as careless about my life when I am grown-up and a soldier?” he thought.
The regular dinner had long been over, and the members of the mess had been sitting longer than usual, the probability of the regiment going into active service having supplied them with so much food for discussion that the hour was getting late, and the young guest had several times over felt an intense longing to ask permission to leave the table, his intention being to get Captain Murray to let him join Andrew Forbes. But he felt that as a guest he could not do this, and must wait till the colonel rose.
He was thinking all this impatiently for the last time, feeling wearied out after so terribly exciting a day as he had passed through, when the colonel and all present suddenly sprang to their feet; for a shot rang out from close at hand, followed by a loud, warning cry, as if from a sentry; then, before any one could reach the door to run out and see what was wrong, there was another shot, and again another, followed by a faint and distant cry.