In Honour's Cause Part 39

"And that is not trusting me, Frank--to know what is best."

"Oh, but I do trust you, father. Now tell me," cried the boy eagerly, "what shall I do to help you?"

"Stay where you are patiently, and watch over and help your mother."

"Is that all, father?" said the boy, in a disappointed tone of voice.

"All? Is it not enough to be trusted to keep my secret, the knowledge which means your father's life, boy, and to have the guardians.h.i.+p of the truest and best woman who ever lived--your mother? And you ask 'Is that all?'"

"Don't be angry with me, father. I am very young and stupid. I will be as contented as I can; only it is so hard to know that you are in danger, and to be doing nothing to help you."

"You will be doing a great deal to help me, for you will be giving me rest of mind--and I want it badly enough. There, now you had better go.

You may be asked for, and you can't make the excuse that you have been to see your father."

"No," sighed Frank. "But I shall see you again soon?"

"Perhaps. I may come here sometimes. An extra hole is useful to a hunted animal, Frank; but don't question me, my boy, even if I seem mysterious. As your father, I can tell you nothing."

Frank sighed and clung to his father's arm.

"There, I'll run one risk. You may come here sometimes. It will not look suspicious for you to visit your mother's empty house."

"My father's empty house," said the boy.

"No, your mother's. Your father is an exile, an outcast, without any rights in England. I am dead in the eyes of the law, Frank, and when you come of age you can reign in my stead. Why, boy, if you liked to make a stand for it, they would, I dare say, tell you that you are now Sir Frank Gowan."

He looked so merrily in his son's face, that the boy joined in his mirth.

"You must go now, my boy. I have work that will take me all night. But if you do come here in the hope of seeing me--"

"I shall not come," said the boy firmly.

"Why?"

"Because, to please myself, I will not do anything to make your position dangerous."

"Well said, Frank; but come now and then for my pleasure, and if I am not here, do this."

He rose and walked to a portrait framed in the wainscotting over a side table, pointed to one little oval nut in the carving, twisted it slightly, and the picture swung forward, showing a shallow closet behind fitted with shelves, and in which were swords and pistols, with flasks of powder and pouches of ball.

"You can look in there; and if I have been, you will find a letter, written for you and your mother, by a Mr Cross to apparently n.o.body. I am Mr Cross, Frank. There. Try if you can open it."

He closed the picture door, and the boy tried, and opened and shut the panel easily, noting at the same time how ingeniously the carving tallied with portions on the other side of the framing.

"Now, then, sharp and short like a soldier, Frank. Heaven bless and protect you and your mother, who must not know I have been here.

Good-bye!"

"Good-bye, father," cried the boy in a choking voice as he clung to the strong, firm man, who pressed him to his breast, and then s.n.a.t.c.hed himself away, and caught up sword and pistol from the table.

For there was a sharp, impatient knocking on the panel of the door, and Sir Robert whispered:

"We have stayed too long!"

CHAPTER TWENTY.

LADY GOWAN AT BAY.

Obeying the impulse of the moment, Frank s.n.a.t.c.hed the remaining pistol from the table, and drew his sword, seeing his father nod approval, as he stretched out his hand to extinguish the light; but before he had dashed it out, the knocking was repeated, and they heard a well-known voice.

"Robert--Robert! Open quickly, dearest. It is I."

"Ah!" cried Frank, with his heart giving a tremendous bound, while Sir Robert unlocked and flung open the door, and clasped his wife to his breast.

Lady Gowan was half swooning and speechless from excitement; but, making a brave effort, she recovered herself, and panted out as she struggled to free herself from her husband's firm arms:

"Quick! Not a moment to lose. Escape for your life."

"What! They know?"

"Yes. The Princess came to my room to warn me. The spies have traced you here; information has been given at the Palace. The King has been told, and the Princess bade me try to save your life before the guard came to arrest you."

"Hah! Sharp work for us, Frank lad. Well, I have seen and kissed you, darling. Now I must try and save your husband's life."

As he spoke he buckled on his sword belt, thrust his pistols in his pockets, Frank handing him the second, and took up his hat and the heavy cloak from where they lay.

"Good-bye, darling. Frank knows how I can get a letter to you through him."

"Yes, yes; but you are killing me, Robert; for pity's sake, fly!"

"My own! Yes," he whispered, as he folded Lady Gowan in his arms again.

"Ah!" cried Frank wildly, for a heavy series of blows from the front-door knocker resounded through the house.

"Too late!" cried Lady Gowan wildly, as Frank dashed out of the door to the front room to peer through the window.

He was back in a few moments, to find his mother clinging to his father, ghastly with the horrible dread which had attacked her.

"Soldiers--a dozen at least in front!" panted Frank.

There was another loud knocking at the street door.

"Quick, father, out by that window. You can drop from the balcony."

"Yes, my boy, easily."

"Then get over the railing and cross the Park. Go straight through by the Palace. No one would think you likely to take that way."