“He was forced to fight, your Highness. You would not have believed in him as a soldier if he had refused, and it is so cruel and hard that he should have been sent away. Pray—pray ask the King to forgive him now.”
“Humph! You are a very plain-spoken young gentleman,” said the Prince sternly. “You draw your sword to protect your mother, and now I suppose if your father is not pardoned you will turn rebel and draw it again to protect him.”
“Your Royal Highness has no right to think such a thing of me,” said the boy, flushing warmly. “I was taught that I was to do my duty here.”
“And very good teaching too, sir; but boys are very ready to forget what they are taught; and princes and kings have a right to think and say what they please.”
“I beg your Royal Highness’s pardon. You said you wanted faithful servants, and a truer and better man than my father never lived.”
“Here, how old are you, young fellow?”
“Seventeen, your Highness.”
“And you are arguing like a man of seven-and-forty. Well, it is a fine thing for a boy to be able to speak like that of his father, and I will not quarrel with you for being so plain. But look here, my boy: I am not the King.”
“But your Royal Highness will be some day,” said Frank excitedly, for he had the wild belief that he was going to carry the day.
“Humph! Perhaps, boy; but that is a bad argument to use. There, I will be plain with you. It does not rest with me to pardon your father.”