In Honour's Cause Part 64

"Oh, my dear, don't say people are coming to break it down again!"

"Never you mind if they are. Get out of my way."

There was the rattling of a key faintly heard, and then _bang, bang, bang_, and the ringing of the bell.

"They've come," said Frank. "But never mind; I'll let them in before they break it."

There was a faint squeal from the kitchen just then.

"Oh!" cried the housekeeper wildly, "that girl will be going into fits again."

"Let her," said Frank. "Stop! Is the area door fastened?"

"Oh yes, my dear. I always keep that locked."

Frank stopped to hear no more, but ran into the housekeeper's room, whose window, well-barred, looked up a green slope toward the Park.

There was a folding screen standing near the fire, a luxury affected by the old housekeeper, who used it to ward off draughts, which came through the window sashes, and the boy opened this a little to make sure that he was not seen by any one who might come and stare in. Then, standing in its shelter, he tore the letter from his breast pocket, broke the seal, opened it with trembling fingers, and began to read, with eyes beginning to dilate and a choking sensation rising in his breast.

For it was true, then--the charge was correct. Andrew Forbes's words had not been an insult, the Prince had told the simple fact.

"Oh, the shame of it!" panted the boy, as he read and re-read the words couched in the most affectionate strain, telling him not to think ill of the father who loved him dearly, and begged of him to remember that father's position, hopeless of being able to return from his exile, knowing that his life was forfeit, treated as if he were an enemy. So that in despair he had yielded to the pressure put upon him by old friends, and joined them in the bold attempt to place the crown upon the head of the rightful heir.

"Whatever happens, my boy, I leave your mother to you as your care."

Frank's hands were cold and his forehead wet as he read these last words, and the affectionate, loving way in which his father concluded his letter, the last information being that he was in England, and had gone north to join friends who would shortly be marching on London.

"Burn this, the last letter I shall be able to leave for you, unless we triumph. Then we shall meet again."

"'Burn this,'" said Frank, in a strange, husky whisper. "Yes, I meant to burn this;" and in a curious, unemotional way, looking white and wan the while, he dropped the letter in the fire, and stood watching it as it blazed up till the flame drew near the great red wax seal bearing his father's crest. This melted till the crest was blurred out, the wax ran and blazed, and in a few moments there was only a black, crumpled patch of tinder, over and about which a host of tiny sparks seemed to be chasing each other till all was soft and grey.

"I needn't have burned it," said the boy, in a low, pained voice. "What does it matter now?"

He stood looking old and strange as he spoke. It did not seem a boy's face turned to the fire, but that of an effeminate young man in some great suffering, as he said again, in a voice which startled him and made him shiver:

"What does it matter now?"

He turned his head and listened then, before stooping to take up the poker and scatter the grey patch of ashes that still showed letters and words; for he appeared to have suddenly awakened to the fact that the thundering of the knocker was still going on and the bell pealing.

"Hah!" he sighed; "I must go back and tell her I was wrong. Poor mother, what she must feel!"

He moved slowly toward the door of the room, and then encountered the housekeeper standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Oh, my dear, my dear!" she moaned; "what shall we do? I heard them send for hammers to break in again."

"They will not, Berry," he said quietly. "I will go up and let them in."

"Oh, my dear!" cried the woman, forgetting the noise at the front door.

"Don't speak like that. What is the matter? You're white as ashes."

"Matter?" he said, looking at the old woman wistfully. "Matter--ashes-- yes, ashes. I can't tell you, Berry. I'm ill. I feel as if--as if--"

He did not finish the sentence aloud, but to himself, and he said:

"As if my father I loved so were dead." He walked quietly upstairs now into the hall, where there was the buzzing of voices coming in from the street, where people were collecting, and he distinctly heard some one say:

"Here they come."

It did not seem to him to matter who was coming; and he walked quietly to the door, shot back the bolts, and threw it open, for half a dozen men to make a dash forward to enter; but the boy stood firmly in the opening, with his face flushing once more, and looking more like his old self. "Well," he cried haughtily. "What is it?"

"Mr Bagot--Mr Bagot! Where is he?"

"Bagot? Do you mean the spy who insulted me?" At the word "spy" there was an angry groan from the gathering crowd, and the men began to press forward.

"The fellow insulted me," said Frank loudly, "and I locked him in one of the upstairs rooms."

"Hooray!" came from the crowd. "Well done, youngster!" And then there was a menacing hooting. "Go and fetch him down," continued Frank.

"Yah! Spies!" came from the mob, and the men on the step gladly obeyed the order to go upstairs, and rushed into the house.

"Shall we fetch 'em out, sir," cried a big, burly-looking fellow, "and take and pitch 'em in the river?"

"No; leave the miserable wretches alone," said the boy haughtily.

"Don't touch them, if they go quietly away."

"Hooray!" shouted the crowd; and then all waited till Bagot came hurriedly down, white with anger, followed by his men, and seized Frank by the shoulder.

"You're my prisoner, sir."

"Stand off!" cried the lad fiercely; and he wrenched himself free, just as the mob, headed by the burly man, dashed forward.

"You put a finger on him again, and we'll hang the lot of you to the nearest lamps!" roared the man fiercely; and the party crowded together, while Frank seized the opportunity to close the door.

"Look here, fellow," he said haughtily. "I am going back to the Palace.

You can follow, and ask if you are to arrest me there." Then turning to the crowd:

"Thank you, all of you; but they will not dare to touch me, and if you wish me well don't hurt these men."

"Ur-r-ur!" growled the crowd.

"Look here, you," cried Frank, turning to the leader of the little riot.

"I ask you to see that no harm is done to them."

"Then they had better run for it, squire," cried the man. "If they're here in a minute, I won't answer for what happens."

"Then let your lads see me safely back to my quarters," said the boy, as a happy thought; and starting off, the crowd followed him cheering to the Palace gates, where they were stopped by the sentries; and they cheered him loudly once more as he walked slowly by the soldiery.

"Arrested again!" said Frank softly. "Well, if I can only go and see her first, it does not matter now."