“Pooh! No: I’m afraid not,” said the colonel; “and we shall lose our young friend’s company. The Prince is a good soldier himself, even if he is a German. Gowan will hear no more of it, I should say; and I don’t want to raise his hopes unduly, but on the strength of this rising, when we want all good supporters of his Majesty in their places, I should say that the occasion will be made one for sending word to Captain Sir Robert Gowan to come back to his company.”
Frank flushed again, and looked at Captain Murray, who smiled and nodded.
“By the way, Murray,” said the colonel, “why did you not bring the other young desperado to dinner?” The captain shrugged his shoulders. “A bit sulky,” he said. “Feels himself ill-used.”
“Oh!” ejaculated the colonel; and seeing Frank’s troubled face, he changed the conversation, beginning to talk about the news of a rising in the north, where certain officers were reported to have landed, and where the Pretender, James Francis, was expected to place himself at their head, and march for London.
“A foolish, mad project, I say, gentlemen,” exclaimed the colonel; “and whatever my principles may have been, I am a staunch servant of his Majesty King George the First, and the enemy of all who try and disturb the peace of the realm.”
A burst of applause followed these words; and the conversation became general, giving Frank the opportunity for thinking over the colonel’s words, and of what a triumph it would be for his father to return and take up his old position.
“Poor old Drew!” he said to himself, with a sigh. “What would he think if he heard them talking about its being a mad project?”
Then he went on thinking about how miserable his old companion must be in the guardroom, watched by sentries; and as he kept on eating for form’s sake, every mouthful seemed to go against him, and he wished the dinner was over. For, in addition to these thoughts, others terribly painful would keep troubling him, the place being full of sad memories. He recalled that he was sitting in the very seat occupied by the German baron upon that unlucky evening; and the whole scene of the angry encounter came vividly back, even to the words that were spoken. The natural sequence to this was his being called by Andrew Forbes in the dull grey of the early morning to go and witness that terrible sword fight in the Park; and he could hardly repress a shudder as he seemed to see the German’s blade flashing and playing about his father’s breast, till the two thrusts were delivered, one of which nearly brought the baron’s career to a close.
Nothing could have been kinder than the treatment the young guest received from the officers; but nothing could have been more painful to the lad, and again and again he wished himself away as the dinner dragged its slow length along, and he sat there feeling lonely, occupied toward the end almost entirely with thoughts of his father, Andrew’s false charge about him being generally uppermost, and raising the indignant colour to his cheeks.
“I wonder where he is now,” he thought, “and what he is doing?”