There are things that I canna tell you, at least not yet. And I’ll ask nothing of ye that ye canna give me. But what I would ask of ye—when you do tell me something, let it be the truth. And I’ll promise ye the same. We have nothing now between us, save—respect, perhaps. And I think that respect has maybe room for secrets, but not for lies. Do ye agree?
He had slipped, climbed, rolled, searched, walked, persevered, that is all. Such is the secret of all triumphs.
When Nature begins to reveal her open secret to a man, he feels an irresistible longing for her worthiest interpreter, Art.