"Because you could not share in that which I desire. I desire neither favour nor position at the hands of the king--only justice. This could not affect you. Stay! if I gain my desire, you should never want a home or a friend." "Neither favour nor position!" he said like a man in astonishment. "A secret like that, and demand neither riches nor honour!" "Neither," I replied. "Then what would you do with your power?" "Justice," I replied. "You would seek to place the--the boy on the throne?" "If he is the king's lawful son, yes, when his father dies." He grasped my hand eagerly. "But you would do nothing without consulting me first. You must promise that." "But I might not abide by your counsels." "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.