In Honour's Cause Part 36

Frank was silent for a few moments.

"I say," he said at last, "doesn't it seem strange that we should be both like this--each with his father obliged to keep abroad?"

"Very," said Andrew drily, and he glanced sidewise at his companion; but Frank was thinking with his brow all in lines, till they came round opposite to the house overlooking the Park, where he stopped to gaze up at the windows.

"Poor old place looks dismal," said Andrew, "with its shutters to and blinds drawn-down. I wonder your mother doesn't let it."

"What, our house?" cried Frank, flushing. "Oh, they wouldn't do that."

"Seems a pity for such a nice place to be empty. But there is some one in it of course?"

"Only our old housekeeper and a maid. Come along; it makes me feel miserable to look at the place."

"But doesn't your mother go there now?"

"No; she has not been since--since--"

He did not finish his sentence, for a curious sensation of huskiness affected his throat, and he felt determined now to follow out the doctor's suggestion, so that there might be some one to take interest in the old town house again.

He took a step or two, and then waited, for Andrew appeared to be attracted more than repelled by the gloomy aspect of the blank-looking place, and then, all at once, Frank's heart seemed to stand still, and a stifling sense of suffocation to affect him, so that it was some moments before he could speak, and then it was in a tone of voice that startled his companion.

"Come away!" cried Frank angrily, and with singular haste. "Don't stop there staring at the windows; it looks so absurd."

Andrew made no reply then, but walked sharply off with his companion till they were some hundred yards away.

"Don't be cross with me, Franky," he said gently. "It isn't my fault, and you ought to know. I feel it as much as you do. I always liked Sir Robert, and you know how much I care for Lady Gowan."

Frank turned to him warmly.

"Yes, I know you do," he said, with a wild and wistful look in his eyes; and his lips parted as if he were eager to say something particular to his companion.

"There, don't take on about it. Things seem all out of joint with us all; but they'll come right some day. And don't you take any notice of me. I feel sometimes as if I'd turned sour, and as if everything was wrong, and I was curdled. I can't help it. Perhaps the doctor's right.

You do as he said, and ask the King boldly. For some things I should like to see Sir Robert back."

Frank made a quick gesture as if to speak out, but Andrew checked him with a laugh.

"Oh, I mean it," he said. "I'd rather he joined us."

Frank gave an indignant start.

"There, there! Don't be cross. I won't say any more. You ask the King. He's only a man, if he is a king; and if he doesn't grant your pet.i.tion, I shall hate him ten times as much as I do now. Why, what a fellow you are! You're all of a tremble, and your face is quite white."

"Is it?" said Frank, with a strange little gasp.

"Yes; either thinking about that pet.i.tion, or the sight of your poor, dismal old house, or both of them, have regularly upset you. Come along, and don't think about them. I must say this, though, for I want to be honest: if I were placed as you are, with a father who had stood so high in George's service, I think perhaps I should be ready to do what the doctor said for the sake of my mother if she was alive."

Again Frank gave his companion that wistful look, and his lips parted, but no words came; and they went on down by the water-side, without noticing that a shabby-looking man was slouching along behind them, throwing himself down upon the gra.s.s, as if idling away the time. And all the while that the two lads were in the Park he kept them in sight, sometimes close at hand, sometimes distant, but always ready to follow them when they went on.

Frank noticed it at last, as they were standing by the water's edge, and whispered his suspicions that they were being watched.

"Who by? That ragged-looking fellow yonder?"

"Yes; don't take any notice."

"No, I'm not going to," said Andrew, stooping to pick up a stone and send it flying over the water. "Spy, perhaps. Well, we're not feeding the ducks to-day. He's a spy for a crown. Well, let him spy. The place is full of them. I've a good mind to lead him a good round, and disappoint him. No, I will not; it might lead to our being arrested for doing nothing, and what would be the good of doing that?"

The man did his work well, for he kept them in sight without seeming to be looking at them once, till they went back to the Palace, where they parted for a time, and Andrew said to himself:

"I wish I had not talked as I did about his father and mother. Poor old fellow; how he was upset!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

IT WAS NOT FANCY.

Andrew Forbes would have felt more compunction had he seen Frank when he was alone; for the lad hurried to his room, where he stood trembling with agitation and thinking of what he should do.

His first thought was to go to his mother; but he knew that he could not see her at that hour, and even if it had been possible, he shrank from telling her, partly from dread of the state of agitation in which his news would plunge her, partly from the thought that he might have been mistaken--that fancy had had a great deal to do with it.

"But I'll put that to the test as soon as it's dark, if I can get away unseen," he said to himself; and then he walked up and down his room, wondering whether Andrew had seen anything--coming to the conclusion at last that if he had he would have spoken out at once.

Then came another vein of thought to trouble him, and he was mentally tossed about as to whether he ought not to have confided in his companion. Then again he tortured himself as to whether he ought not to go at once to Captain Murray and confide in him. Question after question arose till his head felt dizzy, and he was so confused that he was afraid to go and join his companion at the evening meal.

But at last his common sense told him that all this worry of thought was due to the cowardly desire to get help, when, under the circ.u.mstances, he knew that he ought to have sufficient manliness to act and prove whether what he had seen was fancy or the reality.

If it proved to be real--

He trembled at the thought; but making a brave effort, he well bathed his aching temples with cold water, and went down to the evening meal, made a show of eating, and then excused himself on the plea of a very bad headache, got up, and was leaving the room, when, to his horror, Andrew joined him.

"Here," he said, "I don't like to see you in this way. I helped to give you this headache. Let's go and have a walk up and down the courtyard."

"No, don't you come," said Frank, so earnestly that Andrew gave way and drew back.

"Very well," he said. "Go and lie down for a bit; you'll be better then."

Frank made as if to go to his room, but took his hat and cloak and slipped out, forcing himself to cross the courtyard calmly and walk carelessly by the sentries, turning off directly after in the opposite direction to that in which he wished to go, and without seeming to pay any attention kept his eyes travelling in all directions in search of the man they had seen in the afternoon.

But he was nowhere visible, and to make more sure the lad took off his hat to fan himself, the evening being warm, and in so doing purposely dropped his glove, so that in stooping to recover it he could give a good look to the rear to see whether he was followed.

But there was no one suspicious-looking in sight, and, taking advantage of the darkness of the soft, warm evening, he began to walk more sharply, going through the Park till he was opposite to the house, and after glancing to right and left, to make sure that he was not observed, he began to examine it carefully. Those to right and left had several windows illumined, but his old London home was all in complete darkness, though he felt that if he went round to the street front he would see a light in the housekeeper's room.

Dark, everywhere dark; no gleam showing anywhere, not even at the window upon which his eyes had last rested when he was there that afternoon.

"Fancy," he thought; and he breathed more freely. "Yes, it must have been fancy."

"No, it was not fancy!" and his heart began to throb violently, his breath came short, and he looked wildly to right and left, and then walked across the road to stand beneath the trees to make sure that no one was watching from there.