Chapter 53
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 pa.s.sionately. "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 pa.s.sed 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
"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 amus.e.m.e.nt. 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."
"Pis.h.!.+" 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.