“I don't know, sir; I never read a line of it—although I heard a great deal about! it. Isn't that the book the parsons preach I from?”
“It is,” replied the baronet, in his deep voice. “This book is the source and origin and history of the revelation of God's will to man; this is the book on which oaths are taken, and when taken falsely, the falsehood is perjury, and the individual so perjuring himself is transported, either for life or a term of years, while living and when dead, Gillespie—mark me well, sir—when dead, his soul goes to eternal perdition in the flames of hell. Would you now, knowing this—that you would be transported in this world, and damned in the next—would you, I say, take an oath upon this book and break it?”
“No, sir, not after what you said.”
“Well, then, I am a magistrate, and I wish to administer an oath to you.”
“Very well, sir, I'll swear whatever you like.”
“Then listen—take the book in your right hand—you shall swear the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God! You swear to execute whatever duty I may happen to require at your hands, and to keep the performance of that duty a secret from every living mortal, and besides to keep secret the fact that I am in any way connected with it—you swear this?”
“I do, sir,” replied the other, kissing the book.
The baronet paused a little.
“Very well,” he added, “consider yourself solemnly sworn, and pray recollect that if you violate this oath—in other words, if you commit perjury, I shall have you transported as sure as your name is Gillespie.”
“But your honor has sworn me to secrecy, and yet I don't know the secret.”