He laughed.
"I suppose I have it about me somewhere, and there will be enough of it any way to make me keep an oath." He said this meaningly; adding: "So, before I begin my tale, weigh all the chances. If you are a traitor, go away now: leave Wicklow, leave Ireland, and no harm is done. But stay, work out your treachery, and you shall die by my hand!"
I shuddered, but answered bravely:
"You need fear no treachery on my part—I promise that."
"Then swear," he cried,—"swear!"
"I will not swear," I said; "but I will promise."
"Come out with me," he roared in that voice of his, so terrible when once roused to anger, "and promise in the face of heaven, with the eye of God looking down upon you."
He seemed to tower above me like some great giant, some Titan of the hills; his face dark with resolve, his eyes gleaming, his long hair streaming from under the sugar-loaf hat down about his shoulders. He seized me by the arm and hurried me to the door.
Hardly knowing what I did, I repeated after him some formula—a promise binding, certainly, as any oath. As I did so, by one of those rare coincidences, the sun burst out over the hills, flooding all the valleys and resting lovingly upon the highest mountain peaks.
"The smile of God is with us," Niall said, his own face transformed by a smile which softened it as the sunshine did the rocks. "And now I shall trust you; and if you be good and true, why, then, we shall work together for the dear little lady, and perhaps you will help me to carry out my plans."