"I will tell you this," I replied, "I seek not to harm you. You have a secret; that I know, and I can see my way to finding out that secret." "But you will not--you must not!" There was terror in his voice, terror in his eyes, as he spoke. "Look, look; we will act together. I saw you were a youth of courage and wit the first moment I cast my eyes on you. You are of gentle blood, too. You would not break a promise--that I know. You would stand by a bargain, too. Oh, you would, I know you would. Would you not?" "If I make a bargain I will stand by it," I replied. "If I make a promise I will keep it." "Even in the face of death?" he replied. "A gentleman doth not break a promise because of the fear of death," I answered. "He will keep to it under all circumstances, unless the man to whom he hath made it hath forfeited his right to have the promise kept." "Ah, then, look here, look at me, straight in the eyes--that's it! If I tell you what you wish to know you will promise me this. First, you will not seek to discover anything more about me. You understand that? You will not try and find out who I am, where I spend my days or my nights. You will say nothing about me to man, woman, nor child. If you hear aught at any time or at any place of the old man who hath been seen under strange circumstances at Pycroft, you will say nought, nor show by sign of any sort that you have ever heard or seen him." "Well, go on," I replied, as he kept his eyes on me, and waited as if for an answer, "Tell me the other things you wish me to promise." "You must also promise me that whatever advantage can be gained by what I shall tell you shall be shared by me. Look you, I have the marriage contract--that is, I know where it is. It is all in order. It has the signatures of Charles Stuart, of--of--well, the woman who was called Lucy Walters, and that of the priest whose name you mentioned. I know where it is, and besides me there is no other who knows it. You must not ask how I obtained it. But I know. I know where I put it. It is in a safe place. But if I tell you, you must be my friend. In the time to come I shall need a friend such as you, with a quick brain and a strong arm. You know French, you say?" "Yes, I know it enough to speak, and to understand the speech of others." "That is well. You will promise these two things?" "Let us be clear," I made answer, for I knew that he had not been speaking idle words. I could see by the way his hands trembled, and by the eager gleam in his eyes, that he was deeply in earnest. "You wish me to promise not to learn the secret of your life, to seek to know nothing more about you than I know now?" "Yes, yes. Nothing, nothing. That is vital." "And, second, you wish me to promise that whatever advantage may be gained by what I shall find out shall be shared by you?" "Yes, you state it clearly." "The first I might promise, but not the second." "Why?"