She was driven less by the thought of her own liberty than the terror of exposing the dead. The mere thought brought back pictures of hideous days when the grave was not refuge enough from vengeance, when bodies were dug up, gibbeted, haled by a chain along the unwashed cobblestones, quartered with a sword in the market-place and then flung back to the dark. Verrinder may have feared that Marie Louise yielded under duress, and that when she was out of reach of the law she would forget, so he said "Would you swear to keep this inviolate?" "Yes!" "Have you a Bible?" She thought there must be one, and she searched for it among the bookshelves. But first she came across one in the German tongue. It fell open easily, as if it had been a familiar companion of Sir Joseph's. She abhorred the sight of the words that youthful Sunday-school lessons had given an unearthly sanctity as she recognized them twisted into the German paraphrase and printed in the twisted German type. But she said: "Will this do?" Verrinder shook his head. "I don't know that an oath on a German Bible would really count. It might be considered a mere heap of paper." Marie Louise put it aside and brushed its dust off her fingers. She found an English Bible after a further search. Its pages had seen the light but seldom. It slipped from her hand and fell open. She knelt to pick it up with a tremor of fear. She rose, and before she closed it glanced at the page before her. These words caught her eye: For thus saith the Lord God of Israel unto me. Take the winecup of this fury at my hand, and cause all the nations, to whom I send thee, to drink it. And they shall drink, and be moved, and be mad because of the sword that I will send among them. She showed them to Verrinder. He nodded solemnly, took the book from her hand, closed it, and held it before her. She put the slim tips of her young fingers near the talon of his old thumb and echoed in a timid, silvern voice the broken phrases he spoke in a tone of bronze: "I solemnly swear--that so long as I live--I will tell no one--what I know--of the crimes and death--of Sir Joseph and Lady Webling--unless called upon--in a court of law. This oath is made--with no mental reservations--and is binding--under all circumstances whatsoever--so help me God!" When she had whispered the last invocation he put the book away and gripped her hand in his. "I must remind you that releasing you is highly illegal--and perhaps immoral. Our action might be overruled and the whole case opened. But I think you are safe, especially if you get to America--the sooner the better." "Thank you!" she said. He laughed, somewhat pathetically. "Good luck!"