In Honour's Cause Part 17

"Why, Frank, old boy, you make me feel quite young beside you. What a serious old man you've grown into! But if you will have it out about conscience," he continued warmly, after a glance at each of the doors opening out of the room in which they were, "I'll tell you this: my conscience would not let me, any more than would the consciences of thousands more, settle down to being ruled over by a German prince, invited here by a party of scheming politicians, to the exclusion of the rightful heir to the throne. What do you say to that?"

"Only this," said Frank: "that you and I have nothing to do with such things as who ought to be king or who ought not. We're the Prince's servants, and we are bound to do our duty to him and his father. If we go on as you propose, we become conspirators and traitors."

"Oh, I say, what a sermon; what a lot about nothing! People don't study these things in war and politics. I'm for the simple right or wrong of things. I say it's wrong for King George the First to be on the throne, so I shall not stick at trifles in fighting for the right."

"Well, if you talk like that in a place where they say that walls have ears, you'll soon save me the trouble and pain of speaking."

"There was no one to hear but you, and you're safe," said Andrew, laughing. "Brothers don't betray brothers, for one thing; and you know what I told you last night. If you were to betray us, your life would not be safe for a day."

"Pish!"

"Oh, you take it that way, do you? You think you are safe because you are here in the Palace, surrounded by guards. Now, I'll tell you something that you don't know. You believe that I am the only one here who is ready to throw up his hat and draw his sword for the King."

"Yes, and I'm right."

"Only ignorant, Frank, my boy. Now listen. We Jacobites have people everywhere ready to strike when the time comes. Here in this Palace we have ladies and gentlemen forced to keep silence for the present, but who will be in ecstasies as soon as they know the good news Mr Selby gave me last night. Why, the King's and Prince's households contain some of our staunchest people; and if you like to go lower, there are plenty of us even among the Royal Guards. Now, what do you say to that?"

"It can't be true."

"Very well; I shan't quarrel with your ignorance. But look here, Frank; take my advice: Don't you do anything foolish, for so sure as you betray any secret you possess there will be hundreds of hands against you--yes, boy as you are, and unimportant as you think yourself. If you breathe a word, it is not merely against me, but against the safety of scores here; and to save themselves one or the other will send his sword through you at the first opportunity, wipe it, put it back in its sheath, and walk away. No one would be the wiser, and poor Frank Gowan, of whom his mother and father are so proud, would lie dead, while I should have lost the friend for whom I care more than for any one I ever met."

"You don't; it isn't true," cried Frank. "If it were, you would not have led me into this sc.r.a.pe."

"Yes, I should. I tell you that you will thank me some day."

"For making me a traitor?"

"Nonsense! Who can be a traitor who fights for his rightful king?

There, let's leave it now. You have been brought into the right way, and you are ready to fight against it because you don't see the truth yet; but it will all come out, and--very soon."

"What?" cried Frank, for there was a meaning look to accompany the latter words.

"I'm not going to repeat what I said; but you will soon see."

"Then I must speak out at once. I shrank from it for fear of troubling my mother; but now you force me to."

"Don't, Frank. I shouldn't like to see you hurt."

"Whether I'm hurt or whether I'm not is nothing to you."

"Yes, it is. I have told you why. I couldn't bear to see you struck down."

"I don't believe that I should be."

"I do, and I don't want you to risk it, for one thing. For the other, I don't want to be arrested, and to have my head chopped off, for you couldn't speak without getting me into trouble."

Frank stared at him with his purpose beginning to waver.

"I might get off easily, being what they would call a mere boy. But I don't know; perhaps they would think that, as I was in a particular position in the Palace, they ought to make an example of me."

He laughed lightly as he threw himself into a seat by the window.

"I've no one to care about me except the dad, and a little more trouble wouldn't hurt him very much. Perhaps he'd be proud because I died for the King. I say, would you like to know why I am such a steady follower of him across the water?"

Frank didn't speak, but his eyes said yes.

"Because I found how my poor father was wrong-treated. He's free, but he's little better than a prisoner. He's looked upon as a traitor, and I'm kept here princ.i.p.ally as a sort of hostage to make him keep quiet.

That's it, and they'll shorten me for certain if they find anything out.

Poor old dad, though; I dare say he'll be sorry, for he likes me in his way."

The trampling of horses was heard in the distance, and Andrew turned sharply.

"Here they come again. How bright and gay they look this morning! Ah!

I should have liked to live and be an officer in a regiment like that, ready to fight for my king; but I suppose I am not to be tall enough,"

he added, with a mocking laugh. "Wonder whether they'll stick my head on Temple Bar. Now, Frank, here's your chance; come and shout to the nearest officer--'Stop and arrest a traitor!' Well, why don't you? He will hear you if you holloa well."

Frank made no reply.

"Oh," cried Andrew, "you are letting your chance go by. Well, perhaps it's better, and it will give me time to send a message to warn the dear old dad. No, that wouldn't do, because he would at once settle that it was your doing, and then--well, I should have signed your death-warrant, Franky. It would be all over with us both, and pretty soon. You first, though, for our people wouldn't stop for a trial. I say: feel afraid?

Somehow I don't. Perhaps that will come later on. Sure to, I suppose; for it must be very horrible to have to die when one is so young, and with so many things to do. Going?"

"Yes," said Frank gravely, as he turned away.

"Good-bye, then. Perhaps we shan't see each other again."

A peculiar thrill ran through Frank, and his heart gave one great throb.

But he did not turn round. He went out of the room, to go somewhere to be alone--to try to think quietly out what he ought to do, and to solve the problem which would have been a hard one for a much older head, though at that moment it seemed to the boy as if he had suddenly grown very old, and that the present was separated from his happy boyish days by a tremendous s.p.a.ce.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

ANOTHER INVITATION.

Several days pa.s.sed, and at each fresh meeting Andrew Forbes looked at his fellow-page inquiringly, as if asking whether he had spoken out yet; but the lad's manner was sufficient to show that he had not, though Frank was very cool and distant when they were alone.

Then Andrew began to banter his companion.

"Head's all right yet," he said one morning, laughing; and he gave it a slow twirl round like a ball in a socket. "Feels a bit loose sometimes; not at all a pleasant sensation. You're all right still, I see. Felt a bit nervous about you, though, once or twice."

Frank frowned slightly; but Andrew went on.

"I noticed one of us trying the point of his sword; and twice over after dark I saw men watching this window, and that made me think that you must have spoken, especially as I saw Lady--well, never mind names-- examining something she had drawn out of the bosom of her dress. She slipped it back as soon as she saw me, but I feel certain that it was a sort of bodkin or stiletto. 'That's meant for poor Frank,' I said to myself; for, you know, in history women have often done work of that kind. But, there, you don't seem to have any holes in you; so I suppose you are all right for the present."

"How can you joke about so serious a matter?" cried Frank.

"Because I want to put an end to this miserable pique between us," cried Andrew warmly. "It's absurd, and I hate it. I thought we were to be always friends. I can't bear it, Frank, for I do like you."

"It was your doing," said the lad coldly.