'You saw him last alive and like to live?' 'More like to live than I.' 'Where, then, did you leave him?' 'I may not say. I am pledged to silence.' 'How pledged? To whom?' 'To Philip.' 'Ay, we know; but we all are of the League.' 'None were excepted; "not to a soul," he said.' 'He, speaking for the League, meant to not a soul beside.' 'I mean to the League no less. So I think did he.' A poor satisfaction was in standing to his word against those who compelled him to an oath. 'Crack-brained devil----' 'Lower!' Christian said, glancing anxiously up at the window. 'This is no case for foolery or brag. Out of you we must have the whole truth, lief or loath.' His stubborn face said no. To no man on earth could he tell the whole truth, nor, were that possible, would it be believed; less than the whole doomsday truth could scarce make his own outrageous act comprehensible. 'Philip may tell you, but not I,' he said witlessly. And as he spoke and looked at these four, it came upon him that he might not long outlive Philip's telling of the tale, if only by reason of that lurking thing uncertainly seen. He clapped his hand upon the hidden cross, as a perilous flash told how less cause had set down a record that might not bear the light. So close was he ever to the mouth of hell. Live temper faded from his face, and it settled to the old blank mildness that had been lifting somewhat of late days. 'Is he so mad?' 'No, he shams.' 'Leave fooling, and speak straight in a matter of life and death.' 'Oh! more--more than life and death. For the love of God, make an end, and take a final answer. I will tell no more; nor would the most I know further you to Philip.' The comment of a vigorous curse checked him there. 'Hear me out. If you need but to know how a venture went, I can tell you: well. If you have other need of him that does not brook delay, I can but offer to serve you to my best, for following and bringing him again; whatever be the risk, I owe that to him and you. Only this day I must have to myself. I must, though I pay for it with the rest of my life.' That preposterous offer took away breath. Then an oath yelping high with derision above anger brought Christian to entreat for his mother's quiet. 'Let us in here, then,' said one, and reached to the latch behind him. Christian struck up his arm. 'No!' he said, and barred the way. Instantly, moved by a prompt suspicion, the four sprang out ready steel and swung one way, ringing him in. At that, Christian realised his desperate case. He blanched, and sweat started. 'For life and death!' he said hoarsely. 'O my God, my God!' Rhoda shot in between, and, voiceless from fear and speed, clung to Christian, presuming her weakness to turn offence. 'Cowards!' she panted, 'four against one, and he empty-handed. What--why? Christian?' 'You would do well to counsel your madman to give way and let us pass, if he care greatly for the quiet of any there within.'