When drawn quite near, in
a low voice he said, "You must swear upon the cross that you will keep
inviolate the secret I am going to reveal."
Wallace put aside the hilt of the sword which Monteith presented to
receive his oath. "No," said he, with a smile; "in these times I will
not bind my conscience on subjects I do not know. If you dare trust
the word of a Scotsman and a friend, speak out; and if the matter be
honest, my honor is your pledge."
"You will not swear?"
"No."
"Then I must not trust you."
"Then our business is at an end," returned Wallace, rising, "and I may
return home."
"Stop!" cried Monteith. "Forgive me, my old companion, that I have
dared to hesitate. These are, indeed, times of such treason to honor,
that I do not wonder you should be careful how you swear; but the
nature of the confidence reposed in me will. I hope, convince you that
I ought not to share it rashly. Of any one but you, whose truth stands
unsullied, amidst the faithlessness of the best, I would exact oaths on
oaths; but your words is given, and on that I rely. Await me here."
Monteith unlocked a door which had been concealed by the tapestry, and
after a short absence re-entered with a small iron box.
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