"I wonder how many lies have been confessed on the rack," retorted Bess. "There is a charge against you—waiting for something to strengthen the case—of having resisted the King's authority at Thorne, and inciting others to do so. At the same time it is being whispered about among the common sort that you are a traitor to the Islonian cause, and to your father. The Dutch are told that you are their secret enemy, the instigator of the attacks made on them."
"But these stories are contradictory, the one of the other!"
"What does that matter? The effect of them is that you are looked upon with hate and disgust all round. You were in great favour with the people just after the Crowle flood, but they are in a different mind to-day. Tales are told of you in every alehouse which would be laughable, if they were not believed. All this is done on the chance that your enemy may be saved the trouble of your taking off; he is prepared to act himself, if they don't."
"But what motive can he have?" I asked, incredulously.
"To get money," she answered.
"Who is the man?"
"Before I tell you, I must have your word never to betray me—never to tell any one else, directly or indirectly."
"I give it you."
"The man is my father."
I laughed now. "Lord Bozzy," "cheating Bozzy," the gipsy rascal, whose feats and pranks were a perpetual and relishing jest all over the Isle! It was ridiculous to consider him in the light of a malignant, subtle enemy.