"My lord," said I, "you have given me your word to let the prisoner go free. Her subsequent lie, meant to shield and save me, will not hinder the fulfilment of your promise. As for these marks on my breast, and these scars on my face, the man who inflicted them is now in your steward's room, and may be compelled to say why he made them, if that be your pleasure. But of a surety I am Frank Vavasour, at one time your son Edmund's boyish friend, and familiar with everything in this castle."
The earl rubbed his hands. "Vavasour, assuredly," he said. "The matchless impudence proves the breed."
He turned to Bess, who had taken her stand in the utmost shadow she could find.
"Get you gone, jade, before I order you a whipping."
Then he gave instructions to the steward and the scribe.
"Nicholas, bring hither the fellow Boswell, saying nothing of what has passed here. Fetch your book of depositions and informations, Pennington."
Bess looked at me reproachfully as she went out, and I answered her with a smile, glad to note she walked not amiss for one who had been stretched on the rack. For the minute or two, while the steward and clerk were absent, the earl leaned back in his chair, gloating on me like a cat on the mouse she has struck. When they returned, he said—
"Boswell, look at this fellow, who says he is Frank Vavasour. What sayest thou?"
For half a second the gipsy hesitated.
"Quick, man, speak the truth, or——" and his lordship finished his sentence by a motion of the hand toward the rack.