Frank’s lips parted as a look of anguish came into his pale face, and he turned his appealing eyes to the captain, who shook his head sadly.
“I will beg him to see you, my boy,” he whispered. “I look to his seeing you to get his consent.”
Frank sank back into his seat, and turned his face to the window to hide it from those present, and seemed to them to be gazing out at the gay show of troops under arms and filling the courtyard; but, as he sat, he saw only the interior of the Prince’s room, with Captain Murray appealing on his behalf: all else was non-existent.
He had not moved, he had not heard the low buzz of eager conversation that went on, new-comers being unaware of his presence. Fortunate it was that he was deaf to all that was said, for the fate of the prisoners lodged like ordinary malefactors the previous night in Newgate was eagerly discussed, and his father’s name was mentioned by several in connection with the axe.
He was still sitting in the same vacant way when, at the end of half an hour, a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and the captain’s voice said in a low tone, “Come.”
“He will see me?” cried Frank, rising quickly.
“Hush! Keep your sorrow to yourself, as an Englishman should,” whispered the captain. “The room is full of people.”
“But he will see me?”
“No. Come away,” said the captain quietly.
Frank gave him a defiant look; then turned away and walked straight toward the curtained door, which the attendant was about to open to admit another gentleman to the Prince’s presence.