"I . . . I heard of it an hour ago," he lied a thought
unsteadily. "I . . . I commiserate you deeply."
"I deserve commiseration," answered she, "and so does my poor
father, and those others. It is plain that amongst those he
trusted there was a traitor, a spy, who went straight from that
meeting to inform against them. If I but had a list it were easy
to discover the betrayer. One need but ascertain who is the one
of all who were present whose arrest has been omitted." Her
lovely sorrowful eyes turned full upon him. "What is to become
of me now, alone in the world?" she asked him. "My father was
my only friend."
The subtle appeal of her did its work swiftly. Besides, he saw
here a noble opportunity worth surely some little risk.
"Your only friend?" he asked her thickly. "Was there no one else?
Is there no one else, Isabella?"
"There was," she said, and sighed heavily. "But after what befell
last night, when . . . You know what is in my mind. I was
distraught then, mad with fear for this poor father of mine, so
that I could not even consider his sin in its full heinousness,
nor see how righteous was your intent to inform against him. Yet
I am thankful that it was not by your deletion that he was taken.
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