“Not dead?” said Frank wildly.
“No. He has made a sudden change for the better. The doctor says he has the constitution of an ox, and that has pulled him through.”
“Ugh!” ejaculated Andrew; and Frank spoke hastily to cover his companion’s rudeness.
“How long do you think my father will have to be away?”
“Till his. Majesty dies, or, if he is fortunate, till your mother and the Princess have won over his Royal Highness to do battle with his father on your father’s behalf.”
“But do you think he is likely to succeed?”
“I hope so, my lad. The King may give way. It will not be from friendly feeling, or a desire to do a kind action—what do you call it?—an act of clemency.”
“He’ll never pardon Sir Robert!” cried Andrew, bringing his fist down upon the table heavily.
“I think he will,” said Captain Murray; “for his Majesty is a keen man of the world, a good soldier, and a good judge of soldiers. I think that out of policy, and the knowledge that he is very unpopular, he may think it wise to pardon a gallant officer, and to bring him back into the ranks of the men whom he can trust.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Frank excitedly; and his eyes brightened as he treasured up words, every one of which would, he felt sure, gladden his mother’s heart.