“No, I cannot. I am ready to forgive everything you said or did to me; but I cannot forgive such an act as desertion in the hour of England’s great need. Shake hands.”
“Can’t,” said Frank sadly; and he thrust his hands into his pockets, walked to the window, and stood looking out into the courtyard.
No word was spoken for some time, and no sound broke the stillness that seemed to have fallen upon the place, save an occasional weary yawn from the soldier stationed outside the door and the tramp of the nearest sentry, while Andrew very silently still imitated the action of a newly caged wild animal. At last he stopped suddenly.
“Have you thought that over?” he said.
“No,” replied Frank. “Doesn’t want thinking over. My mind was made up before.”
“And you will take the consequences?”
“Hang the consequences!” cried Frank angrily. “What is your rightful monarch, or your pretender, or whatever he is, to me? I don’t understand your politics, and I don’t want to. I’ve only one thing to think about. My father told me that, as far as I could, I was to stand by and watch over my mother in his absence, and I wouldn’t forsake my post for all the kings and queens in the world; so there!”
“Then I suppose if I try to escape you will give the alarm and betray me?”
“I don’t care what you suppose. But I shouldn’t be such a sneak. I wish you would go, and not bother me. You’ve no business here, and it would be better if you were away; but I don’t suppose you will do much good if you do go.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Andrew, as if letting off so much indignant steam; “and this is friendship!”