“Wouldn’t you like a light, Sir Robert? I saw yours was out.”
“Yes,” came from close to where Frank stood with his hands turning wet in the darkness, and then he felt his father brush by him, the door was unlocked, and the housekeeper’s white face was seen lit up by the candle she carried.
“Thank you, Berry,” said Sir Robert; and he took the candle and relocked the door after the woman.
The light dazzled Frank for a few minutes, and then he was gazing wonderingly in his father’s face, to see that it was thin and careworn, while the lines in his forehead were deepened.
His sword and pistols lay upon the table close to some sheets of paper, the inkstand showing that he had been writing when he was interrupted by his visitor; and the boy noticed, too, that there was a heavy cloak over a chair back, and the curtains were very closely drawn.
“Don’t look so smart as in the old days, Frank, eh?” said Sir Robert, with a sad smile.
“You look like my father,” said the boy firmly.
“And you like my son,” cried Sir Robert, patting the boy’s head.
“Then you really would not like me to venture to ask the King, father?”
Sir Robert pointed to a chair close by his own, and they sat down, the father still retaining his boy’s hand.