CHAPTER TEN.
IN THE HORNS OF A DILEMMA.
It was a bright morning; but now it seemed to Frank Gowan that the worldhad suddenly turned back. Andrew Forbes met him in the most friendlyway after breakfast. He was almost affectionate in his greeting.
"Didn't dream about the traitors' heads on Temple Bar, did you?"
"No," said Frank coldly. "I lay awake and thought about them."
"Ugh!" ejaculated Andrew, with a shudder. "What gruesome things to taketo bed with you. I didn't; I was so tired that I went off directly andslept like a top."
Frank looked at him in disgust.
"Hallo! what's the matter?" cried his fellow-page. "Not well?"
"I was wondering whether you had any conscience."
"I say, hark at the serious old man!" cried Andrew merrily. "Whatevermade you ask that?"
"Because it seemed impossible you could have one, to treat it all solightly after taking me there last night."
"I don't see how you can call it that. You were invited, and you wentwith me."
"That's a contemptible piece of shuffling," cried Frank.
Andrew flushed up and frowned.
"Pooh!" he said, laughing it off. "You are tired and cross thismorning. What a fellow you are for wanting to quarrel! But we can't dothat, now we're brethren."
"No, we are not," said Frank hotly. "I'll have nothing to do with themiserable business."
"Colt kicking on first feeling his harness," said Andrew merrily."Never mind, Frank; you'll soon get used to it."
"Never."
"And it's a grand harness to wear. I say, what's the good of making afuss about it? You'll thank me one of these days."
"Then you have no conscience," cried Frank sternly.
"Why, Frank, old boy, you make me feel quite young beside you. What aserious old man you've grown into! But if you will have it out aboutconscience," he continued warmly, after a glance at each of the doorsopening out of the room in which they were, "I'll tell you this: myconscience would not let me, any more than would the consciences ofthousands more, settle down to being ruled over by a German prince,invited here by a party of scheming politicians, to the exclusion of therightful heir to the throne. What do you say to that?"
"Only this," said Frank: "that you and I have nothing to do with suchthings as who ought to be king or who ought not. We're the Prince'sservants, and we are bound to do our duty to him and his father. If wego on as you propose, we become conspirators and traitors."
"Oh, I say, what a sermon; what a lot about nothing! People don't studythese things in war and politics. I'm for the simple right or wrong ofthings. 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 haveears, 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 knowwhat I told you last night. If you were to betray us, your life wouldnot be safe for a day."
"Pish!"
"Oh, you take it that way, do you? You think you are safe because youare here in the Palace, surrounded by guards. Now, I'll tell yousomething that you don't know. You believe that I am the only one herewho 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 peopleeverywhere ready to strike when the time comes. Here in this Palace wehave ladies and gentlemen forced to keep silence for the present, butwho will be in ecstasies as soon as they know the good news Mr Selbygave me last night. Why, the King's and Prince's households containsome of our staunchest people; and if you like to go lower, there areplenty of us even among the Royal Guards. Now, what do you say tothat?"
"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 betrayany 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 aword, it is not merely against me, but against the safety of scoreshere; and to save themselves one or the other will send his swordthrough you at the first opportunity, wipe it, put it back in itssheath, 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 Ishould have lost the friend for whom I care more than for any one I evermet."
"You don't; it isn't true," cried Frank. "If it were, you would nothave led me into this scrape."
"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 truthyet; but it will all come out, and--very soon."
"What?" cried Frank, for there was a meaning look to accompany thelatter 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 troublingmy 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 struckdown."
"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, Idon't want to be arrested, and to have my head chopped off, for youcouldn'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 Idon't know; perhaps they would think that, as I was in a particularposition 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 troublewouldn't hurt him very much. Perhaps he'd be proud because I died forthe King. I say, would you like to know why I am such a steady followerof 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, buthe's little better than a prisoner. He's looked upon as a traitor, andI'm kept here principally 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 hisway."
The trampling of horses was heard in the distance, and Andrew turnedsharply.
"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 headon Temple Bar. Now, Frank, here's your chance; come and shout to thenearest officer--`Stop and arrest a traitor!' Well, why don't you? Hewill hear you if you holloa well."
Frank made no reply.
"Oh," cried Andrew, "you are letting your chance go by. Well, perhapsit's better, and it will give me time to send a message to warn the dearold dad. No, that wouldn't do, because he would at once settle that itwas 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, andwith 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 gav
e one great throb.But he did not turn round. He went out of the room, to go somewhere tobe alone--to try to think quietly out what he ought to do, and to solvethe 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 grownvery old, and that the present was separated from his happy boyish daysby a tremendous space.
In Honour's Cause: A Tale of the Days of George the First Page 10