"Ah!" he said at length. "You wanted to see, and you shall see. Lucy married Prince Charles--no, King Charles--and Lucy gave the contract to the priest, and the priest gave it to old Father Solomon, and old Solomon waited--waited till his dream should be fulfilled. Do you know this place, Master Roland? Once upon a time miners digged here for gold. Oh, it was ages ago. Whoever dreamed of gold being found five miles from Folkestone? They dug, and dug, and dug! They are dead, but their work lives. Fancy those old men digging here ages ago. But they left a grand hiding-place. Only one man knows the secret of these caverns. I, old Solomon. The man who is left alone here never sees the light again. Ha, ha! But it is a fine place to die!" Presently he seemed to have discovered the place he sought, and then he took the candle from my hand. I saw a dark hole in the side of the cavern, into which he put his hand, and from which he drew a black box. "You wanted to see it, and you shall see it," he said. Then he pressed a spring in the box, and the lid flew open. "Read! Read!" he cried. I saw a piece of parchment which was emblazoned with a rude tracing of the Lion and the Unicorn. This he took, and with trembling fingers unfolded it. "Read! Read!" he cried again. It was written in French, but in such a crude fashion as to make it difficult to read. But I saw these words--"Marriage Contract between Charles Stuart, King of England and Scotland, and Lucy Walters, of Ros Martat, in the County of Pembroke, Wales, daughter of Richard Walters." After this there were many lines which seemed to be meaningless, but at the bottom of the page I saw writing by other hands. I saw the words-- "Charles Stuart, By the Grace of God King of England and Scotland. "Lucy Walters. "Pierre Rousseau. "François Abelard." I saw, too, that Pierre Rousseau was stated to be a priest of the Roman Catholic Church who had performed the sacrament of marriage, and that François Abelard, a brother of the Benedictine Order, had witnessed thereto. "There, you have seen it; now let me put it away." "No," I replied, "let me read it again; I would commit the writing to memory." He paid no heed to me, however, and before I well knew what he was doing he had struck the paper from my hands. The box closed with a snap, and he placed it in its hiding-place again. "You have seen," he cried. "Oh, it is rare fun. Now, then, you must swear to what I dictate, or you will never again see the light of the sun." "Swear what?" I cried, for I felt angry with myself for having allowed him to put the thing back into its hiding-place. "You must swear that you will obey me in all that appertains to this." "That was not in our bargain," I cried. "But it must be," he cried. "Swear, or you die." "No," I said, "I will not. And do not think to frighten me. I will keep to my bargain faithfully, but if you in aught do fail on your part, then will I come hither alone, and I will act without you."