“Oh, we were spectators like the boys here,” said one of the officers.
“Yes, it’s a bad job,” said Captain Murray; “but a man must stand by his friend. Never mind, Gowan, old fellow; if they cashier us, we must offer our swords elsewhere. I say,” he continued, turning to the captain of the guard, “you are not going to arrest these boys?”
“The two pages? No; absurd. They found out that there was an affair on, and came to see. Got over the wall, I suppose. I should have done the same. I can’t see them. Now, doctor, as soon as you say the word, my men shall carry our German friend on their muskets. How is he?”
“As I said before—bad,” replied the surgeon sternly. “Better send two men for a litter. He must be taken carefully.”
“Then I’ll leave two men with you while I take my prisoners to the guard-house. Fall in, gentlemen, please. You boys get back to your quarters. Now, messieurs—meinherrs, I mean—you are my prisoners. Vorwarts! March!”
“Aren’t you faint, father?” whispered Frank, who took Sir Robert’s uninjured arm.
“Only sick, boy—heartsick more than anything. Frank, your mother must know, and if she waits she will get a garbled account. Go to her as soon as you get to the Palace, and tell her everything—the simple truth. I am not hurt much—only a flesh wound, which will soon heal.”
“And if she asks me why you fought, father,” whispered Frank, “what am I to say?”
Sir Robert frowned heavily, and turned sharply to gaze in his son’s eyes.
“Frank boy,” he said, “you are beginning trouble early; but you must try and think and act like a man. When I go, your place is at your mother’s side.”