"She is dying. The Spanish Ambassador," I added, to clinch the matter, for I saw he doubted, "rode through here this afternoon to pay his court to the Princess Elizabeth at Hatfield."
He looked down at the ground, thinking deeply. Most men would have been unable to think at all, unable to concentrate their thoughts on anything save their escape from death. But a life of daily risk and hazard had so hardened this man that I was certain, as I watched him, that he was not praying nor giving thanks. He was already pondering how he might make the most out of the change; how he might to the best advantage sell his knowledge of the government whose hours were numbered to the government which soon would be. The life of intrigue had become second nature to him.
He looked up and our eyes met. We gazed at one another.
"Why are you here?" he said curiously. "Why did they leave you? Why were you the one to stop to set me free, Master Carey?"
"My name is not Carey," I answered.
"What is it, then?" he asked carelessly.
"Cludde," I answered softly.
"Cludde!" He called it out. Even his self-mastery could not cope with this surprise. "Cludde," he said again--said it twice in a lower voice.
"Yes, Cludde," I answered, meeting and yet shrinking from his questioning eyes, "my name is Cludde. So is yours. I tried to save your life, because I learned from Mistress Anne----"
I paused. I shrank from telling him that which, as it seemed to me, would strike him to the ground in shame and horror. But he had no fear.