“No,” said the lad firmly; “but I should be forgetting her if I made no effort, but sat still and let things drift.”
Captain Murray sighed, and rose from his seat.
“Frank,” he said gravely, “I never had a brother, but for years now your father seemed to fill a brother’s place with me, and I tell you as a man that there is nothing I would not do to save his life. I am a simple soldier; I know my duties well, and if the need arose I could go and face death with the rest, feeling that it was the right thing to do; but I am not clever, I am no statesman—not one of those who can argue and fence—unless,” he said bitterly, “it is with my sword. I looked upon you as a mere boy, but over this you are more the man than I. You master me. I cannot do more than defend myself. Still, I think I am advising you rightly when I beg and pray of you to do nothing rash. Don’t take any step, I say once more, that will embitter the Prince against you. I will go now. Stay here for a while till you grow calmer, and then come to my quarters. I feel that I only irritate you, and must seem weak and cowardly to you. You will be better alone. I, too, shall be better alone. I want to try and think, and it is hard work this morning, for I am in terrible pain. One of my ribs was broken last night in that crowd, and at times I am sick and faint.”
Frank heard his words, but did not seem to grasp them, and sat back in his seat with his chin resting upon his breast as the captain walked slowly away. Had he looked after him, he would have seen that twice over he stopped to lean for a few minutes against a tree.
But the boy neither looked up nor stirred. He sat for some time as if completely stunned, till he heard steps approaching, and then, with an impatient movement, he turned a little in his seat, so as to hide his face from whoever it was coming by.
The next moment a familiar voice said distinctly behind him:
“Don’t look up—don’t move or speak. Be at your father’s house at four this afternoon, holding the door ajar till I slip in.”
“Drew!” ejaculated Frank, in a sharp whisper, as he obeyed the order, thrilling the while as if with new life infused through his veins; and his eyes followed the tall, slight figure of a jaunty-looking young man, dressed in the height of fashion, walking along as if proud of his bearing and the gold-headed, clouded cane he flourished as he promenaded the Park.
Drew Forbes, whose life would probably be forfeit in those wild times if he were recognised by either of the spies who haunted the Palace precincts—Drew, wearing no disguise, though changed in aspect by his hair being so closely cropped behind! What his appearance might be face to face Frank could not tell.