nly
for a moment, would give him comfort in his sore distress!"

"I was going, mother," whispered the boy excitedly. "Captain Murray was
going to let me be with him, and he as an officer would have been able
to take me right up to the escort."

"Then why are you here? Oh, go--go at once!"

"I was to stay with you, mother, so that you might see me when you
awoke," he said huskily, the intense longing to go struggling with the
desire to stay.

"Yes, yes, and I have seen you; but I am nothing if we can contrive to
give him rest. Go, then, at once."

"But you are not fit to be left."

"I shall not be left," she said firmly. "Quick, Frank. You are
increasing my agony every moment that you stay. Oh, my boy, pray, pray
go, and then come back and tell me that you have seen him. Go. Take no
refusal; fight for a position near him if you cannot get there by
praying, and tell him how we are suffering for his sake--how we love
him, and are striving to save him. Oh, and I keep you while I am
talking, and he must be very near! Quick! Kiss me once and go, and I
will lie here and pray that you may succeed."

"You wish it--you command me to go, mother?" he panted.

"Yes, yes, my boy," she cried eagerly; and he bent down over her,
pressed his lips to hers, and darted to the door.

"Nurse, nurse!" he said hoarsely, "come and stay with my mother." Then
to himself as he rushed down the stairs: "Too late--too late! He must
have gone."

CHAPTER FORTY.

ON THE GREAT NORTH ROAD.

The heavy, leaden feeling of despair and disappointment increased as
Frank Gowan ran across the courtyard, feeling that it was useless to
expect to find Captain Murray, but making for his quarters in the faint
hope that he might have been detained, and cudgelling his brains as he
ran, to try and find a means of learning the route that the escort would
take, so that he might even then try and intercept the prisoners'
carriages.

But no idea, not the faintest gleam of a way out of his difficulty
helped him; and he felt ready to fling himself down in his misery and
despair, as he reached the officers' quarters.

It was like a mockery to him in his agony to see the sentry, who
recognised him, draw himself up, and present arms to his old captain's
son, and it checked the question he would have asked the man as to when
Captain Murray had passed, for he could not speak.

"I must see if he is here," he thought, as he ran up the stairs to the