"Your man is quicker of apprehension than you," she said. "He doesn't know me, and he doesn't trust me. He is loading his gun, and keeping a watchful eye on me; a good servant, that. I wish you would take a leaf out of his book, and be on your guard against strangers. Two months ago I begged you to go away out of the Isle, and it is by the most wonderful luck you are alive to-day." "I have been in danger once or twice; I do know so much." Bess waved her hand loftily. "I do not speak of mobs and crazy women; your enemies are much more formidable." "Come now, Bess, drop this mysterious style, and tell a plain tale, if you have one. You mean that Sheffield owes me a grudge, and won't stick at trifles to pay it. I know that as well as you, and I am not shaking in my shoes about it." Bess laughed. "One of your worst enemies is your confidence in bodily strength and pluck. Lord Sheffield is not blessed with the sharpest wits in the world, though he is more than your match in craftiness, but he has the help of a man as cunning as the devil." "Do you mean the Dutchman, Vliet?" I asked. Bess laughed again. "The Dutchman is a bulldog, and, if you are prudent, you will not go near his kennel. But you have to be on your guard against one who can intrigue. Let me tell you there are sworn accusations now at Castle Mulgrave that Daft Jack was your tool, and if the poor fellow is caught he will be made to confess that he was." "But it is a lie!" I exclaimed. "I wonder how many lies have been confessed on the rack," retorted Bess. "There is a charge against you--waiting for something to strengthen the case--of having resisted the King's authority at Thorne, and inciting others to do so. At the same time it is being whispered about among the common sort that you are a traitor to the Islonian cause, and to your father. The Dutch are told that you are their secret enemy, the instigator of the attacks made on them." "But these stories are contradictory, the one of the other!" "What does that matter? The effect of them is that you are looked upon with hate and disgust all round. You were in great favour with the people just after the Crowle flood, but they are in a different mind to-day. Tales are told of you in every alehouse which would be laughable, if they were not believed. All this is done on the chance that your enemy may be saved the trouble of your taking off; he is prepared to act himself, if they don't." "But what motive can he have?" I asked, incredulously. "To get money," she answered. "Who is the man?" "Before I tell you, I must have your word never to betray me--never to tell any one else, directly or indirectly." "I give it you." "The man is my father." I laughed now. "Lord Bozzy," "cheating Bozzy," the gipsy rascal, whose feats and pranks were a perpetual and relishing jest all over the Isle! It was ridiculous to consider him in the light of a malignant, subtle enemy.