“Where to, father?”
“Humph! Don’t know for certain, my boy. As you say, the place swarms with spies, and though I have had to give up my gay uniform, plenty of people know my face, and I don’t even feel now that they are not hunting me down.”
“But if they did, what would happen?”
“A fight, Frank—don’t tell your mother this; she suffers enough. I can’t afford to be captured, and—you know what they do with the poor wretches they take?”
Frank shivered, and glanced at his father’s sword and pistols.
“Loaded, father?” he said in a whisper. “Yes, boy.”
“And is your sword sharp?”
“As sharp as the cutler could make it. And I know how to use it, Frank; but a man who carries a sword—if he is a man—is like a bee with its sting; he will not use it save at the last extremity. You must remember that with yours.”
“Yes, father. But do think again; we are both so unhappy there at the court.”
“What, in the midst of luxury and show!” said Sir Robert banteringly.