Feeling humbled and abashed before the old soldier, Roy followed the secretary without a word, and they entered the breakfast-room together, Lady Royland looking up pale and disturbed, and, upon seeing her son's face, exclaiming--

"Why, Roy, how hot and tired you look! Have you been running?"

The secretary laughed contemptuously.

"No, mother; practising fencing with Ben."

"Oh, Roy!" cried his mother, reproachfully; "what can you want with fencing? My dear boy, pray think more of your books."

Master Pawson gave the lad a peculiar look, and Roy felt as if he should like to kick out under the table so viciously that the sneering smile might give place to a contraction expressing pain.

But Roy did not speak, and the breakfast went on.

CHAPTER SIX.

BEN MARTLET FEELS RUSTY.

"Come to me in half an hour, Roy," said Master Pawson, as they rose from the table, the boy hurrying away to the armoury to find Ben busy as ever, and engaged now in seeing to the straps and fittings of the Italian suit of bronzed steel.

"Thought I'd do it, sir," he said, "in case you ever asked for it; but I s'pose it's all over with your learning to be a man now."

"Indeed it is not," said Roy, sharply. "I'm sure my father would not object to my learning fencing."

"Sword-play, sir."

"Very well--sword-play," said Roy, pettishly; "so long as I do not neglect any studies I have to go through with Master Pawson."

"And I s'pose you've been a-neglecting of 'em, sir, eh?" said the old man, drily.

"That I've not. Perhaps I have not got on so well as I ought, but that's because I'm stupid, I suppose."

"Nay, nay, nay! That won't do, Master Roy. There's lots o' things I can do as you can't; but that's because you've never learnt."

"Master Pawson's cross because I don't do what he wants."

"Why, what does he want you to do, sir?"

"Learn to play the big fiddle."

"What!" cried the man, indignantly. "Then don't you do it, my lad."

"I don't mean to," said Roy; "and I don't want to hurt my mother's feelings; and so I won't make a lot of show over learning sword-play with you, but I shall go on with it, Ben, and you shall take the swords or sticks down in the hollow in the wood, and I'll meet you there every morning at six."

"Mean it, sir?"

"Yes, of course; and now I must be off. I was to be with Master Pawson in half an hour."

"Off you go, then, my lad. Always keep to your time."

Roy ran off, and was going straight to Master Pawson's room in the corner tower, but on the way he met Lady Royland, who took his arm and walked with him out into the square garden.

"Why, mother, you've been crying," said the boy, tenderly.

"Can you see that, my dear?"

"Yes; what is the matter? I know, though. You're fretting about not hearing from father."

"Well, is it not enough to make me fret, my boy?" she said, reproachfully.

"Of course! And I'm so thoughtless."

"Yes, Roy," said Lady Royland, with a sad smile; "I am afraid you are."

"I try not to be, mother; I do indeed," cried Roy; "but tell me--is there anything fresh? Yes; you've had some bad news! Then you've heard from father."

"No, my boy, no; the bad news comes through Master Pawson. He has heard again from his friends in London."

"Look here, mother," cried the boy, hotly, "I want to know why he should get letters easily, and we get none."

Lady Royland sighed.

"Father must be too busy to write."

"I am afraid so, my dear."

"But what is the bad news he has told you this morning?"

They were close up to the foot of the corner tower as Roy asked this question; and, as Lady Royland replied, a few notes of some air being played upon the violoncello high up came floating down to their ears.

"He tells me that there is no doubt about a terrible revolution having broken out, my boy; that the Parliament is raising an army to fight against the king, and that his friends feel sure that his majesty's cause is lost."

"Then he doesn't know anything about it, mother," cried the boy, indignantly. "The king has too many brave officers like father who will fight for him, and take care that his cause is not lost. Oh, I say, hark to that!"

"That" was another strain floating down to them.

"Yes," said Lady Royland, sadly; "it is Master Pawson playing. He is waiting for you, Roy."

"Yes, playing," said the boy, hotly. "It makes me think of what I read with him one day about that Roman emperor--what was his name?--playing while Rome was burning. But don't you fret, mother; London won't be burnt while father's there."

"You do not realise what it may mean, my boy."

"Oh, yes, I think I do, mother; but you don't think fairly. You are too anxious. But there! I must go up to him now."

"Yes, go, my boy; and you will not cause me any more anxiety than you can help?"

"Why, of course I won't, mother. But if it is going to be a war, don't you think I ought to learn all I can about being a soldier?"