"He was your only brother, and unmarried—was he not?"
Randall answered, hoarsely,—
"It is true, God help me! it is true."
"To all that is his, then, you are sole heir. I lay no claim to interest or forfeit, and I wish that thrice the sum would restore him to life, since even at the last he was not wholly unworthy of my father's confidence and his children's love. Come," said he, turning to those present, and taking from his breast a Bible, "repeat after me the oath of silence and secrecy:—
"'We, who alone know of the circumstances attending the decease of Captain Albert Randall, and the suspicions attaching to the part acted therein by his brother George Randall, do solemnly swear that, except under the seal of confession, or as compelled by the power of the law, we will never divulge our knowledge or suspicions until after the decease of the brother of the dead.'"
The oath was taken with due solemnity, and Randall rose to depart. Blake, filled with anger and desire of vengeance, had preceded him. La Salle coldly did as common politeness required, but Regnar saw that sickness and mental torture had overcome the strong man, whose knees trembled beneath him, as, with the curse of Cain upon him, he turned to depart, without friends, far from home, and weary of life.
"It is not right, La Salle," said the boy. "I was unjust to him although it is better for all that no eyes but our own saw him laid in the Deadman's Berg. Let us give this man human sympathy; he is weak and sick; let us see that he does not despair of the mercy and love of God."
La Salle could not but acknowledge the righteousness of this appeal, and, followed by Regnar, hastened into the hall.
"Captain," said he, "forgive us if we have failed to treat you with Christian forbearance, and believe that our hearts will retain your memory, with sympathy for your heavy burden of remorse, if not with the esteem that might have existed between us. The night is dark and cold; let us help you to find a conveyance."
"I thank you," said he, feebly; "you are very kind—far kinder than I deserve. No man can measure the remorse that burns within me, and yet the world would say that you have let me off too easily."