Again Tarleton seized the boy by the wrist; and his brow grew dark, his eyes fierce and threatening. "And you confessed _the secret_ to this man?" he exclaimed. "Nay, deny it not!" He tightened his grasp. "You did confess--did you not?" "Oh, pity!--do not harm me!" and Gulian shrunk before Tarleton's gaze. "I did not confess _the secret_--indeed I did not." "Swear you did not!" "I swear I did not!" "I will not believe you, unless you will place your hand upon this crucifix, and swear by the Savior, that you did not reveal _the secret_." The boy placed his hand upon the alabaster image, and said solemnly, "By the name of the Savior, I swear that I did not reveal _the secret_ of which you speak." Tarleton burst into a laugh. "I breathe freer!" he cried. "You are superstitious; and, with your hand upon an image like that, I know you cannot lie. _The secret_ is safe, and all will yet be well. Come, we must go." "Oh, you do not want me now!" cried Gulian, shrinking away from his grasp--"now that you are assured of the security of _the secret_?" "Worse than ever, my boy," cried Tarleton, with a tone of mocking gayety. "I am positively starving to death for your company. To-day and to-morrow you must be with me all the time, and never for an instant quit my sight. After that you are free!" The countenance of Gulian, in which a masculine vigor of thought was tempered by an almost woman-like roundness of outline and softness of expression, underwent a sudden and peculiar change. "I will not go with you," he said, slowly and firmly, his eyes shining vividly, while his face was unnaturally pale. "You will not go with me?" and Tarleton advanced with a scowling brow--"We'll see, we'll see,--" "I will not go with you," repeated Gulian. "You call me superstitious. It may be superstition which makes my blood run cold with loathing, when you are near me; or it may be some voiceless warning from the dead, who, while in this life, were deeply injured by you. But it is not superstition which induces me to place my hand upon this crucifix, and tell you, that you cannot drag me from it, save at peril of your life. Ah, you sneer! The house is deserted:--true. The crucifix of frail alabaster:--true. But you are fairly warned. The moment that crucifix breaks, to you is one of peril." Tarleton knew not what to make of the expression and words of the boy. At first there was something in the look of Gulian which touched him, against his will; but, as the closing words fell on his car, he burst into a laugh. "Come, child, we'll leave the house by the hall door," he said; and, as he passed an arm around Gulian's waist, he placed the other hand upon the door which led into the passage: "Nay, you need not cling to that bauble! Come! I'll endure this nonsense no longer--" The alabaster image was crushed in the grasp of Gulian, as he was torn from it; and at the same instant the colonel opened the door.