ng up to see my
friend. He is in the drawing-room, I suppose?"

"Oh yes, my dear. He has been in and out when I have not known, and I
heard him talking to himself last night. Poor young man! he seems in
trouble too."

"Yes, yes. Go down now," said Frank hastily; and as the old woman
descended, he sprang up the stairs, and turned the handle of the
drawing-room door.

But it was locked.

He knocked sharply.

"Open the door," he said, with his lips to the keyhole. "It is I--
Frank."

The key was turned, and he stepped in quickly, to stand numbed with
surprise; for Lady Gowan, looking ghastly white, stood before him,
without bonnet or cloak.

"Well?" she cried; "tell me quick!" and her voice sounded hoarse and
strange.

"You here!" stammered Frank. "Oh, I see. Oh, mother, mother, and you
have been too ill to go."

"No, no. Don't question me," she said wildly. "I can't bear it. Only
tell me, boy--the truth--the truth!"

"You are ill," he cried. "Here, let me help you to the couch. Lie
down, dear. The doctor must be fetched."

"Frank!" she cried, "do you wish to drive me mad? Don't keep it back.
I am not ill. Your father! Has he escaped?"

It was some minutes before he could compel his mother to believe that he
knew nothing, and grasped from her incoherent explanations that, when
she had reached the house two hours before, she had come up to the
drawing-room and found Drew impatiently waiting there.

He had then given her his father's message of hope for his dear friend's
safety, and his assurance that a couple of thousand friends would save
him. Moreover, the lad unfolded the plan they had made.

It was simple enough, and possible from its daring, for at the sight of
the King's order the authorities of the prison would be off their guard.

Lady Gowan was to give up dress, bonnet, and cloak, furnish Drew with
the royal mandate, leave him to complete the disguise by means of false
hair, and thus play the part of the heart-broken, weeping wife.

Thus disguised, he was to go down to the carriage, be helped in, and
driven to the prison. There he was to stay the full time, and in the
interval to exchange dresses with the prisoner, who, cloaked and veiled,
bent with suffering and grief, was to present himself at the door when
the steps of the gaolers were heard, and suffer himself to be assisted
back to the carriage and driven off.

"Yes, but then--then--" cried Frank wildly. "Oh, it is mad