."

She uttered a passionate cry, clasped him to her breast, and let her
face sink upon his shoulder, sobbing painfully the while.

"I knew what pain it would give you, dear," he whispered, with his lips
to her ear; "but you made me tell you. I was obliged to fight him.
Father would have been ashamed of me, and called me a miserable coward,
if I had not stood up for him as I did."

"Then--then--he said that of your father?" faltered Lady Gowan, with her
convulsed face still hidden.

"Yes."

"And you denied it, Frank."

"Of course," cried the lad proudly; "and then we fought, and I did not
know what was happening till the Prince came and struck down our
swords."

Lady Gowan raised her piteous-looking face, pressed her son back from
her, and rose from the couch.

"Go now, my boy," she said, in a low, agonised voice.

"Back to prison?" he said. "But tell me first that you are not so angry
with me. I can't feel that I was so wrong."

"No, no, my boy--no, I cannot blame you," sighed Lady Gowan.

"And you forgive me, mother?"

"Forgive you? Oh, my own, true, brave lad, it is not your fault, but
that of these terrible times. Go now, I can bear no more."

"Say that once again," whispered Frank, clinging to her.

"I cannot speak, my darling. I am suffering more than I can tell you.
There, leave me, dearest. I want to be alone, to think and pray for
help in this terrible time of affliction. Frank, I am nearly
broken-hearted."

"And I have been the cause," he said sadly.

"You? Oh no, no, my own, brave, true boy. I never felt prouder of you
than I do now. Go back. I must think. Then I will see the Princess.
The Prince is not so very angry with you, and he will forgive you when
he knows the truth."

"And you, mother?"

"I?" cried the poor woman passionately. "Heaven help me! I do not feel
that I have anything to forgive."

Lady Gowan embraced her son once more, and stood looking after him as he
descended the stairs, while Frank walked over to his prison with head
erect and a flush of pride in his cheeks.

"There," he muttered, as he passed the sentry, "let them say or do what
they like; I don't care now."

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE BREACH WIDENS.

Andrew started from his seat as Frank entered the room and the door was
closed and locked behind him; but, seeing who it was, he sat down again
with his face averted.

"Shall I tell him?" thought Frank. "No; it would be like triumphing