“Oh, he will be saved!” she exclaimed; “I scarcely dared hope it till now.”
At length Mabel appeared somewhat to recover her composure, and worn out by anxiety of mind and the fatigue she had gone through, at length sank to sleep in the arms of her friend. They did not reach home till a late hour. Scarcely conscious, Mabel was carried to bed. Her dreams were far more happy than they had been for many a day. She and her kind friend looked forward with anxiety to the return of Mr Kyffin on the following day. He arrived before noon with the intelligence that the governor of the prison had received the minister’s reprieve for Harry. That afternoon had been fixed for the review of the volunteers in Hyde Park. Mabel felt sure that his Majesty would, if he had an opportunity, immediately sign the pardon which the minister had given her.
It was a lovely day. The sun shone brightly forth from an unclouded sky, and from the various avenues of approach troops marched up to the ground preceded by their bands of music and colours flying—infantry, cavalry, and artillery. The most numerous corps was that of the City Light Horse. Some of the companies, however, were dismounted and marched on foot. Others came in long cars, with their rifles between their knees, while a band of well-equipped horsemen rode up at the head of the regiment, their glittering arms and handsome dresses distinguishing them from the men of other corps. The privates, as well as the officers, were all gentlemen, a considerable number of them men of fortune and independence. One spirit animated every regiment alike—ardent love of their country, and a determination, if called upon, to fight bravely and to die in her defence.
Mr Kyffin and Mabel waited for a favourable opportunity of approaching the King, for Mabel’s anxiety would brook no delay, and she was afraid that he might return to Windsor without signing the paper.
At length the King drew up, preparatory to the troops marching past. The time seemed favourable, as there was an open space near his Majesty by which she could approach. Dressed in deep mourning, and leaning on Mr Kyffin’s arm, her countenance radiant with beauty, her colour heightened by excitement, she drew near to the King. One of the equerries observing her, inquired what she wanted.
“It is not the right moment to approach his Majesty,” he answered.
The King, hearing what was said, turned his head, and seeing her, exclaimed—
“Ah! my dear young lady, how can I help you? What is it? Will not Mr Pitt advise me to pardon the young mutineer?”
“Oh! yes, your Majesty. He has given me a proper document which only requires your Majesty’s signature, but every moment is of consequence. It is cruel to have him kept in that dreadful prison, and I dread lest by any mistake he may be carried off and executed.”
Mabel could scarcely bring herself to utter these words. The King smiled.