"Oh, I fear not that. If you come to me before you take action—all will be well. You will see the wisdom of my words."
"Yes, I would promise that," I said slowly, for the full meaning of what I was saying was not clear to me.
"That is well—that is well!"
He spoke like a man from whose shoulders a burden had rolled, and I judged that he was mightily pleased.
"But remember," I said, "in return you promise to tell me what you know of the woman Constance who came to you here last night, and you also promise to place in my hands the marriage contract of the king with Lucy Walters."
"That is, I will take you to the place where it is. I will share with you this secret. And in return you will seek to do justice, justice! And you will do nothing without consulting me. You will also be my friend, and will seek to shelter me. And you are a gentleman. You speak only the truth, and you keep your promises."
The whole question had been settled so easily that I wondered at my good fortune. I had told the man nothing, and yet he had promised to give me the information I coveted. In truth, so easily was my work accomplished that I feared lest I had pledged myself more fully than I realized. And yet all seemed straightforward. I had touched the old man's fear, and he had yielded. His great dread was that I should discover his secret, the secret of his name and identity. Well, what were his name and identity to me? Then I had promised to befriend him. That was more serious. It might be that in making this promise I had undertaken more than I knew. And yet all might be simple. I believed that he was afraid to make use of the secret he guarded, and that he was eager to obtain the services of some one like myself. Besides, nothing could be obtained without risk, and I had made my promise.
He moved the pot from the fire, and then threw some dry wood upon the smouldering embers.
"The night is cold, although summer is approaching fast," he said. "Besides, it is well for us to be warm and comfortable. You will drink wine with me. No? Ah, you fear. You are cautious for one so young, but it is well. We shall need caution as well as courage. There, the fire flames. Draw up that chair, good youth, and let us talk in a friendly way. Our skirmish is over, and we have arranged a truce. Nay, more than that, we have agreed to fight on the same side, and I am content. Do you know that for three days following I have dreamt that I shall have a youth, brave and strong and wise, like you, who shall be my friend? Well, I took every precaution before taking you into my confidence, but now I believe you are the fulfilment of my dream. But it will be easier for us to talk if we each have a name. You can call me Father Solomon; what may I call you?"
"You may call me Master Roland," I made answer.