"Don't trouble your mind with these slanders, sir," he urged.
"I won't believe it. I'll stand by my father. But if the Duke of York—But I'll say no more." His head fell on his breast. But in a moment he sprang to his feet, crying, "But I'm a Protestant. Yes, and I'm the King's son." He caught Carford by the arm, whispering, "Not a word of it. I'm ready. We know what's afoot. We're loyal to the King; we must save him. But if we can't—if we can't, isn't there one who—who——?"
He lost his tongue for an instant. We stood looking at him, till he spoke again. "One who would be a Protestant King?"
He spoke the last words loud and fiercely; it was the final effort, and he sank back in his chair in a stupor. Carford gave a hasty glance at his face.
"I'll go for the physician," he cried. "His Grace may need blood-letting."
I stepped between him and the door as he advanced.
"His Grace needs nothing," said I, "except the discretion of his friends. We've heard foolish words that we should not have heard to-night, my lord."
"I am sure they're safe with you," he answered.
"And with you?" I retorted quickly.