e as if
completely stunned, till he heard steps approaching, and then, with an
impatient movement, he turned a little in his seat, so as to hide his
face from whoever it was coming by.

The next moment a familiar voice said distinctly behind him:

"Don't look up--don't move or speak. Be at your father's house at four
this afternoon, holding the door ajar till I slip in."

"Drew!" ejaculated Frank, in a sharp whisper, as he obeyed the order,
thrilling the while as if with new life infused through his veins; and
his eyes followed the tall, slight figure of a jaunty-looking young man,
dressed in the height of fashion, walking along as if proud of his
bearing and the gold-headed, clouded cane he flourished as he promenaded
the Park.

Drew Forbes, whose life would probably be forfeit in those wild times if
he were recognised by either of the spies who haunted the Palace
precincts--Drew, wearing no disguise, though changed in aspect by his
hair being so closely cropped behind! What his appearance might be face
to face Frank could not tell.

CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

A MEETING BETWEEN FRIENDS.

"`Be at your father's house at four this afternoon, holding the door
ajar till I slip in,'" said Frank, repeating his old companion's words,
trembling with excitement the while, as he watched till the figure had
disappeared, when a feeling of resentment sent the hot blood to his
temples. "No. I will not go. It only means more trouble. Oh, how
much of it all is due to him!"

"No," he said a few minutes later. "That is unjust. He must have been
with the people who attempted the rescue last night. I will go. He is
brave and true, after all. Yes, it is to help again to save my father,
and I will be there."

It was like a fillip to him, and a few minutes after he rose, and went
back to the Palace, passing several officials whom he knew, all saluting
him in a kindly way, as if full of sympathy, but not attempting to
speak.

His goal was his mother's room, and to his surprise he found her
evidently anxiously expecting him, but very calm and resigned in her
manner.

"Frank dear," she said gently, "I feel as if it is almost heartless of
me to seem so, but I am better. I will not despair, my own boy, for I
feel so restful. It is as if something told me that our prayers would
be heard."

"And with him lying in irons in that dreadful gaol," thought Frank, with
a momentary feeling of resentment--momentary, for it passed