“No, my boy, no; the bad news comes through Master Pawson. He has heard again from his friends in London.”
“Look here, mother,” cried the boy, hotly, “I want to know why he should get letters easily, and we get none.”
Lady Royland sighed.
“Father must be too busy to write.”
“I am afraid so, my dear.”
“But what is the bad news he has told you this morning?”
They were close up to the foot of the corner tower as Roy asked this question; and, as Lady Royland replied, a few notes of some air being played upon the violoncello high up came floating down to their ears.
“He tells me that there is no doubt about a terrible revolution having broken out, my boy; that the Parliament is raising an army to fight against the king, and that his friends feel sure that his majesty’s cause is lost.”
“Then he doesn’t know anything about it, mother,” cried the boy, indignantly. “The king has too many brave officers like father who will fight for him, and take care that his cause is not lost. Oh, I say, hark to that!”
“That” was another strain floating down to them.