“Good! good! And you will let me give you a bit of advice. Get clear of the brig as soon as you can. Your doings have made a noise in London, and very soon a strong effort will be made to find the offending vessel.” Donald assured his young friend that he and his mates would get clear as soon as they possibly could; and upon this a silence fell, which lasted while they both took another sip of wine, and a few seconds beyond. Percy broke it. “Donald, I come now to a question which I am very anxious you should answer, and, before asking it, I will renew the pledge of secrecy which I gave you before. Will you tell me what you know of Ralph Tryon? Who--What--! Can a simple question startle you like that? Has the man such power over old Donald Rodney that he dare not speak?” “No! no! Percy, you don’t understand. We’re all bound by a terrible oath--one of the most terrible ye can imagine--that we won’t speak in answer to any such question as you have asked. I’d rather lose a hand than answer ye!” “For how long a time have you been bound by that oath, Rodney?” “For a long, long time. But don’t ask me. I mustn’t answer to anything of the kind.” “Well, look ye, old friend--my old ‘uncle,’ who loved me once, and who--” “Loves you more than ever before,” broke in the old man, feelingly. “I believe you, Donald; and I hope you will feel like answering my next question. Tell me, haven’t I known, or haven’t I seen Ralph Tryon in another character--a character widely different from that in which he now appears?” Rodney had started with the old fright as the youth began to speak, but a moment later he had taken on a new look--one of quick, keen inquiry. “Percy,” he said in a hoarse whisper, scarcely audible, at the same time laying his hand on his companion’s knee. “What have ye got in your mind? Where d’ye think ye’ve seen him?” “There is the trouble, Donald. For the life of me I cannot tell, and yet I am as sure of it as I am that you now sit before me. Will you help me?” Every line and lineament of the old man’s face was wrought upon by an agony of physical torture. After a little pause he started to his feet and laid a hand on the youth’s head, and his voice when he spoke was full of earnest, prayerful supplication. “Percy! Percy! If you love me, don’t ask me any more! It’s more than my life is worth to answer you as you wish to be answered. I can’t! I can’t! Oh! you will give over, won’t you? You won’t torture me any more? Ask me anything else in the world--anything--and I’ll answer, if I know how; but not that--Oh! not that!” “All right; I won’t press you further, Donald. I am only sorry that the wretch has gained such power over you; but I am glad you have resolved to break the chain.” “Yes, yes, dear boy, I’ll break that, be sure; but, you’ll remember, my oath will last while I live. You will never ask me that question again, will you?”