“Let them hammer and bang down the door, mother. The idiots! they are giving him time to get safe away. Oh the fools, the fools! Shall I go and speak to them?”
“No, no,” whispered Lady Gowan, speaking with her lips once more to her boy’s ear, for the noise made was deafening. “Let them take time to break in, and then we must parley with them, and let them suspect us and make a regular search. They will waste nearly an hour, Frank.”
“Of course they will,” cried the boy joyously; “but, I say, mother, we’re not going to put up with this, you know; I’m not going to have you insulted by these people breaking into the house. I shall show fight.”
“No, no, don’t do anything imprudent, Frank. We must assume that we took them for a ruffianly mob who tried to break in.”
“But they said, ‘in the King’s name,’ mother,” said the boy dubiously.
“And we would not believe them, my boy. Frank, Frank, it is horrible to incite you to prevaricate and dally with the truth, but it is to save your father’s life. Be silent. On my head be the sin, and I will speak and bear it.”
The crashing of the woodwork went on beneath the blows, and the murmur that rose like a low, deep accompaniment outside told that a crowd had collected, and were being kept back by the soldiery.
“This way, Frank,” cried Lady Gowan; and she drew her son after her to the head of the basement steps, where she called aloud to the housekeeper, who came hurrying up, candle in hand, to where mother and son stood.
The old woman looked ghastly, and Frank could hear a strange sobbing from below, in spite of the noise at the front, which was partly deadened from where they stood.
“Master, my lady?” cried the woman wildly.