"Now--now, before it's too late, swear--swear by all you hold sacred to
do my bidding."
"What do you mean? I don't understand."
"If--if I tell you the secret and you escape from this, you'll be able
to take my place as a living witness of her guilt--you'll be able to
wreak vengeance upon her in my stead; to end a career, dark and
dishonourable, shadowed by a terrible crime."
"Relate the facts," urged the younger man impatiently, for he well knew
that the other's strength was fast failing, and feared lest the end
should come before he could narrate the story.
"You have not sworn. Take an oath to deliver her up to justice should
you escape, then I will show you the full extent of her villainy."
The dying man's terrible earnestness alarmed him.
"How can I do so until I am convinced?" he argued. What proof was
there, he reflected, that Valerie had been false to him? After all,
perhaps these wild words were the irresponsible expressions of a person
whose mind was unhinged.
At that moment the madman in the boat's stern started up with a fearful
oath, afterwards laughing, fiendishly, and keeping up a hideous
gibbering which added to the horror of Trethowen's surroundings.
"Answer me," said his companion, in a low, guttural voice. "Will you
take the oath?"
He hesitated, remembering that she was his wife, the woman he trusted
implicitly, and whom he still adored, believing her to be good and pure.
Yet here was a chance to ascertain something about her past, the secret
of which had been so strangely preserved by Egerton. The temptation
proved too great. To humour an imbecile, he thought, was justifiable.