“Ah,” he said, and he looked well pleased. “There spoke no nameless boy!”
I breathed hard at the thought of what his speech meant. I was in act indeed to ask him if I were truly a Fitzmaurice and of noble birth when his next words held me, and, as it proved, the silence between us was to last to the edge of the grave for one of us.
“Be content, boy, for a little while,” he said, and his voice was of great sweetness. “You are no nameless child; but let it be my secret for a time. In time I shall reveal it. If I told you now it might mean that we should part company.”
“Never that,” I said.
“Never that, I pray,” he rejoined, adding—“because I love you, Wat.”
Then after a few minutes of silence he went on:
“Your secret is left to no such blind chance as may befall such an one as I. If aught happen to me, Master Boyle holds it safe, and will reveal it in proper time.”
“You will not tell me?” I broke out.
“To have it known would bring me some steps nearer the Tower,” he said, “and I wend that way already.”
“Then keep it silent forever,” I cried out.