It was about an hour later, when mother and son were seated together, calm and pale after the terrible excitement, talking of their future—of what was to happen next, and what would be their punishment and that of the brave, high-spirited lad who was now a prisoner—that Berry tapped softly at the door.
“A letter, my lady,” she said, “for Master Frank;” and as she came timidly forward, the old woman’s eyes looked red and swollen with weeping.
“For me, Berry?” cried Frank wonderingly. “Why, nurse, you’ve been crying.”
“I’m heart-broken, Master Frank, to see all this trouble.”
“Then go and mend it,” cried the lad excitedly. “The trouble’s over. It’s all right now.”
“Ah! and may I bring your ladyship a dish of tay?”
“Yes, and quickly,” said Frank tearing open the letter. “Mother!” he cried excitedly, “it’s from Drew.”
It was badly written, and in a wild strain of forced mirth.
“Just a line, countryman,” he wrote. “This is to be delivered when all’s over, and dear old Sir Robert is safe away. Tell my dear Lady Gowan I’m doing this as I would have done it for my own mother, and did not tell you because you’re such a jealous old chap, and would have wanted to go yourself. I say, don’t tell her this. I don’t believe they’ll do anything to me, because they’ll look upon me as a boy, and I’m reckoning upon its being the grandest piece of fun I ever had. If they do chop me short off, I leave you my curse if you don’t take down my head off the spike they’ll stick it on, at the top of Temple Bar, out of spite because they could not get Sir Robert’s. Good-bye, old usurper worshipper. I can’t help liking you, all the same. Try and get my sword, and wear it for the sake of crack-brained Drew.”
“Poor old Drew!” groaned Frank, in a broken voice. “Oh, mother, I was not to let you see all this.”