‘Is the lad here?’ asked he, after a long pause.
‘Yes, your Royal Highness,’ said the friar, while he made a motion toward the door.
Charles Edward stopped him quickly as he said, ‘No matter, there is not any need that I should see him. He and his aunt—she is his aunt, you said—must return to Ireland; this is no place for them. I will see Kelly about it to-morrow, and they shall have something to pay their journey. This arrangement does not please you, Frate, eh? Speak out, man. You think it cold, unnatural, and unkind—is it not so?’
‘If your gracious Highness would just condescend to say a word to him—one word, that he might carry away in his heart for the rest of his days.’
‘Better have no memory of me,’ sighed the Prince drearily. ‘Oh, don’t say so, your Royal Highness; think what pride it will be to him yet, God knows in what far-away country, to remember that he saw you once, that he stood in your presence, and heard you speak to him.’
‘It shall be as you wish, Frate; but I charge you once more to be sure that he may not know with whom he is speaking.’
‘By this holy Book,’ said the Fra, with a gesture implying a vow of secrecy.
‘Go now; send him hither, and wait without till I send for you.’
The door had scarcely closed behind the friar when it opened again to admit the entrance of the youth. The Prince turned his head, and, whether it was the extreme poverty of the lad’s appearance, more striking from the ragged and torn condition of his dress, or that something in Gerald’s air and look impressed him painfully, he passed his hand across his eyes and averted his glance from him.
‘Come forward, my boy,’ said he at last. ‘How are you called?’