“I can’t help it, father. I must tell you the truth,” cried the boy passionately.
“Yes, you are quite right, boy, and I’m weak and foolish to have proposed such a thing. But it’s hard, my lad—very, very hard.”
“Don’t I know, father?”
“Yes, yes, boy. But tell me, does she talk about me to you much?”
“She talks of nothing else, father. But listen; I’m going to petition the King myself. I’m going to kneel to him, and beg him to give you leave to return.”
“You are, my boy?”
“Yes, father,” cried Frank excitedly, “directly I get a chance.”
“No, Frank, don’t do that,” said Sir Robert, rather sternly.
“You don’t wish me to, father?” Sir Robert drew a deep breath, and then hoarsely: “No. I desire that you do not. Your mother has through the Princess prayed and prayed in vain. No, Frank, you shall not do that.”
“Very well, father,” said the boy drearily. “Hist! Some one!” whispered Sir Robert; and Frank turned sharply to see light gleaming beneath the door, and his father stepped away from him, and something on the table grated softly as it was taken up. Then a soft voice said: