He had then given her his father’s message of hope for his dear friend’s safety, and his assurance that a couple of thousand friends would save him. Moreover, the lad unfolded the plan they had made.
It was simple enough, and possible from its daring, for at the sight of the King’s order the authorities of the prison would be off their guard.
Lady Gowan was to give up dress, bonnet, and cloak, furnish Drew with the royal mandate, leave him to complete the disguise by means of false hair, and thus play the part of the heart-broken, weeping wife.
Thus disguised, he was to go down to the carriage, be helped in, and driven to the prison. There he was to stay the full time, and in the interval to exchange dresses with the prisoner, who, cloaked and veiled, bent with suffering and grief, was to present himself at the door when the steps of the gaolers were heard, and suffer himself to be assisted back to the carriage and driven off.
“Yes, but then—then—” cried Frank wildly. “Oh, it is madness; it could not succeed!”
“Don’t, don’t say that, my boy,” wailed Lady Gowan. “I must, mother, I must,” cried the boy passionately. “Why did he not confide in me? I could have told him what I dared not tell you.”
“Yes, yes, what?” cried Lady Gowan. “Tell me now. I can—I will bear it.”
“My poor father was fettered hand and foot. It was impossible for him to escape.”
There was a painful silence, which was broken at last by Lady Gowan, who laid her hands with a deprecating gesture upon her son’s breast.
“Don’t blame me, Frank,” she whispered. “I was in despair. I snatched at the proposal, thinking it might do some good, when my heart was yearning to be at your father’s side. You cannot think what I suffered.”