“Be that task mine,” cried Osbert. “As soon as your Highness is in safety, I will fly to procure assistance.”
“Nay, you must not go, Sir,” said Constance. “The peril will be as great to you as to the Prince himself. You will only throw away your life in the attempt. I will summon the watch. I shall run no risk.”
“She will, at least, pity me if I fall—I will go!” mentally ejaculated Osbert.
“I will procure your Highness instant admittance to the hospital,” said Constance, “and then——”
“Nay, you must bear me company, or I will not enter,” interrupted Philip.
Osbert waited till they had nearly reached the door of the hospital, and then, drawing his sword, rushed down the passage leading to the street.
“Ah! rash young man!” exclaimed Constance, in accents of pity which might have gratified Osbert if he could have heard them. “He is rushing to certain destruction.”
Scarcely were the words uttered, when the clashing of steel was heard without, accompanied by other sounds, proving that a desperate conflict was going on.
“I must leave you, Constance, and fly to his assistance,” cried the Prince, plucking his rapier from its sheath.
“No,” she rejoined, holding him. “Your life is too precious to be thus sacrificed—too precious to the Queen.”