"So much," said Ned, "is true. I marked him."
"He told me, moreover," I continued, "that the business that brought him to England was fair and honest, though it was for King James. There was another priest did force or trick him into companying with the murderers. Ned, dear Ned, I did mean letting him go for our father's sake and our name." And here I found no power, and perhaps little will, to restrain the catch of a sob in my throat. "Men must not say 'spy,' 'plotmonger,' 'assassin,' when they say Drayton, Ned. You do forgive me?"
"Right gladly," he answered, and seemed to muse for a little. And then, "'T is well," he said, "that I did not wake the sentry that lay sleeping at his door."
"Why did you not?" I asked.
"Because," he replied, "though I thought all was safe, I would not have it known that I had left my post." With that he went softly to the door of the gallery and listened. "It is strange," he said, when he was come again to my side, "that I hear no sound of his capture. Yet he could not pass the sentry at the stair-head."
"He did not go that way," said I.
"But it was to defend that door," he retorted, "that you drew on me."
"Ay, dear Ned," I answered, "but that was to deceive you."
"But why, cunning one," he said, "did you not at once tell me all?"
"I feared you would be mighty stern," I answered; "also, I was loath to tell you who I was. Moreover, Ned, I did think it best for you to have neither knowledge nor share in his escape, if I might procure it without your aid. I was afraid for you."