“I hate his peaked face and his yellow eyes, and the way he hath of watching you and peering like a cat that sees in the dark.” “You are hard on Master Boyle, Wat. There is too much of the lawyer in him, and he treads soft as a cat. Yet there is a man behind his greed and his cunning. He is better framed for times like these than such an one as I. I could never walk warily.” “He has your secret and can use it against you.” “He would do me no more harm than beggar me if he might so enrich himself. My head would be no use to him, little Wat.” “’Tis a poor warranty for holding a secret,” said I, bitterly. “I am well-disposed to Master Boyle,” my lord went on. “He is a man of substance, Wat, and a useful friend for one like myself, who can keep nothing. We shall not pluck the jewels from the gold-trees of Guiana without money and ships. I am nearly sucked dry, and the Queen hath lost faith in me.” Then I knew that my lord was not so contented as he had seemed of late, and that further voyages were afoot. In the joy and excitement of the prospect I forgot to fret about my namelessness. Besides, my lord knew that I was noble; and Master Boyle knew it, and treated me with a consideration which should have won my regard if it were not that I distrusted his dealings with my lord. And as the autumn of that year came on I noticed that my lord ceased to care for his gardens and orchards and plantations, and would be forever poring over maps and charts, and had long conversations with the master of the Bon Aventure, which good ship lay yet in Youghall Harbor, and the master did seem nigh as weary of idleness as Sir Walter himself. And sometimes he had Master Boyle privily. Indeed, though I speak of him as Master Boyle, ’tis from old habit; for about this time he had been created my Lord Boyle for his services to the Queen’s Majesty in the better governance of Ireland. At last the word came that we were to sail; and it was as if the quiet, sleeping town of Youghall had started awake. Such a burnishing of arms and armor; such a getting out of old materials of war; such a polishing of decks and making of sails and mounting of guns on the good ship Bon Aventure as never was known. All day long the singing of the sailors in the harbor floated to us through the still air. And my lord’s swarthy face smiled once again as I had known it when I was a little lad, before he was like a led eagle that is chained beyond hopping a little way.