‘I will not hear him called by that name, Signor Conte. So long as I remember anything, I was taught not to endure it.’
‘Was that your mother’s teaching, Gerald?’ said the Prince tenderly.
‘It was, sir. I was a very little child; but I can never forget the last prayer I made each night before bed: it was for God’s protection to the true Prince; and when I arose I was to say, “Confusion to all who call him the Pretender!”’
‘He is not even that now,’ muttered Charles Edward, as he leaned his head on the mantelpiece.
‘I hope, Signor Conte,’ said the boy timidly, ‘that you never were for the Elector.’
‘I have done little for the cause of the Stuarts,’ said Charles, with a deep sigh.
‘I wish I may live to serve them,’ cried the youth, with energy.
The Prince looked long and steadfastly at the boy, and, in a tone that bespoke deep thought, said:
‘I want to befriend you, Gerald, if I but knew how. It is clear you have no vocation for the church, and we are here in a land where there is little other career. Were we in France something might be done. I have some friends, however, in that country, and I will see about communicating with them. Send the Frate hither.’
The boy left the room, and speedily returned with Fra Luke, whose anxious glances were turned from the Prince to the youth, in eager curiosity to learn how their interview had gone off.