e is the inscription:--'_Hic jacet venerabilis, Petrus Gulielmus
Scott, Canon Honorab. Conventus Novi Castelli. Obiit quarta et decima
Feb. ann. Dom. MCCVIII. Requiescat in pace._'"

Monk did not lose a single word. He was astonished either at the
marvelous duplicity of this man and the superior style in which he
played his part, or at the good loyal faith with which he presented his
request, in a situation in which concerning a million of money, risked
against the blow from a dagger, amidst an army that would have looked
upon the theft as a restitution.

"Very well," said he; "I shall accompany you; and the adventure appears
to me so wonderful, that I shall carry the torch myself." And saying
these words, he girded on a short sword, placed a pistol in his belt,
disclosing in this movement, which opened his doublet a little, the
fine rings of a coat of mail, destined to protect him from the first
dagger-thrust of an assassin. After which he took a Scottish dirk in his
left hand, and then turning to Athos, "Are you ready, monsieur?" said
he.

"I am."

Athos, as if in opposition to what Monk had done, unfastened his
poniard, which he placed upon the table; unhooked his sword-belt, which
he laid close to his poniard; and, without affectation, opening his
doublet as if to look for his handkerchief, showed beneath his fine
cambric shirt his naked breast, without weapons either offensive or
defensive.

"This is truly a singular man," said Monk; "he is without any arms; he
has an ambuscade placed somewhere yonder."

"General," said he, as if he had divined Monk's thought, "you wish we
should be alone; that is very right, but a great captain ought never to
expose himself with temerity. It is night, the passage of the marsh may
present dangers; be accompanied."

"You are right," replied he, calling Digby. The aid-de-camp appeared.
"Fifty men with swords and muskets," said he, looking at Athos.

"That is too few if there is danger, too many if there is not."

"I will go alone," said Monk; "I want nobody. Come, monsieur."

Chapter XXV. The Marsh.

Athos and Monk passed over, in going from the camp towards the Tweed,
that part of the ground which Digby had traversed with the fishermen
coming from the Tweed to the camp. The aspect of this place, the aspect
of the changes man had wrought in it, was of a nature to produce a great
effect upon a lively and delicate imagination like that of Athos. Athos
looked at nothin