“Silence, Frank! Let me speak,” said Lady Gowan, without a tremor in her voice. “Then you are not an armed mob of rioters. Pray, what does this outrage mean?”
“I ask your pardon, Lady Gowan,” said the young officer, recovering himself; “it is a painful act of duty.”
“To break into my house, sir!” said Lady Gowan haughtily, while her son felt more than ever that he was engaged in some madly exciting game.
“I was refused entrance, after repeatedly demanding it in the King’s name.”
“In the King’s name!” cried Lady Gowan scornfully. “How were I, my son, or my servants to know that this was not the excuse made by one of the riotous Jacobite bands to obtain entrance and plunder my home?”
“I cannot help fulfilling my duty, Lady Gowan,” said the young officer respectfully. “I must proceed to the arrest.”
“Arrest?” cried Lady Gowan hurriedly. “Oh, Frank! But surely—ah, I will speak to the Princess. Such a trivial act—a thoughtless boy. Arrest him for absenting himself without leave—to meet his mother—at his own home?”
“Your ladyship must be trifling with me,” said the officer sternly, “and I cannot be played with. Information was brought to the Palace that Sir Robert Gowan is here, and at all costs my orders are to arrest him. I beg that you will tell him to surrender at once.”
“Go back to those who sent you, sir, and tell them that Sir Robert Gowan is not here.”
“Then where is he, madam?”