"Yourself."
"Myself?"
"Yes."
"What of me?"
"What do I know about your designs?"
"What designs could I have? Do you think I could plan an escape?"
"Why not?"
"Why not? What! living here close beside you? I be a traitor? I, with my life at your mercy at all times—with my throat within such easy reach of any assassin who might choose to revenge my treachery?"
"We are not assassins," said Girasole, angrily.
"And I am not a traitor," rejoined the priest, mildly.