“Should I be right in giving it up?”
“Yes,” said the captain emphatically.
“But what will my father think? I shall seem to be forsaking him in his great trouble.”
“He will think you are doing your duty, and are trying hard to save his life. Come, don’t be down-hearted, for we are all at work. There is our regiment to count upon yet—the King’s own Guards, who will, to a man, join in a prayer to his Majesty to spare the life of the most popular officer in the corps.”
“Ah! yes,” cried Frank.
“I don’t want even to hint at mutiny; but the King at a time like this would think twice before refusing the prayer of the best regiment in his service.”
“Oh, Captain Murray!” cried the lad excitedly. “I will promise everything. I will go by your advice.”
“That’s right, my lad; my head is a little older than yours, you know. Now, go back to your duties, and let the Prince see that his page is waiting hopefully and patiently to see how he will help him. Go to your mother, too, all you can, and tell her, to cheer her up, that we are all hard at work, and that no stone shall be left unturned to save Sir Robert’s life.”
Frank caught the captain’s hands in his, and stood holding them for a few moments before hurrying out of the room.
Then more news came of each day’s march, and of the slow approach of the prisoners—the leaders only, the rest being imprisoned in Cheshire and Lancashire to await their fate.