Frank’s heart was too full for speech, and, hardly heeding his companion’s words, he stood gazing after the two coaches, feeling lower in spirits than he ever had before in his life.
“We ought to have known that the soldiers and the people were all upon his side. A little brave effort, with some one to lead them, and we could have rescued him. The men would have carried everything before them.”
“Rather curious expressions of opinion for one of the royal pages, young gentleman,” said a stern voice.
“Captain Murray!” cried Andrew, who was thoroughly startled to find his words taken up so promptly by some one behind him.
“Yes, my lad, Captain Murray. I am glad, Gowan, that such words did not fall from you, though in your case they would have been more excusable.”
“Perhaps, sir,” cried Frank, in his loyalty to his friend, though truthfully enough, “it was because I could not speak. I wish I had helped to do it, though.”
“Hah! Yes, brave and manly, but weak and foolish, my boy. Recollect what and where you are, and that whispers spoken in the precincts of the Palace often have echoes which magnify them and cause those who uttered them much harm.”
“I’m not sorry I spoke,” said Andrew hotly. “It has been horribly unjust to Sir Robert Gowan.”
“Suppose we discuss that shut in between four walls which have no ears, my lad. But let me ask you this, my hot-blooded young friend—suppose you had roused the soldiers into rising and rescuing Sir Robert Gowan, what then?”
“It would have been a very gallant thing, sir,” said Andrew haughtily.