"But massa 'Dolph!" hesitated old Royal.
"Up, I say!" and Randolph flung his cap and cloak to the floor, and drew two bowie-knives from his belt. "Up, I say! You have heard my history from old Royal?" he glanced around among the negroes.
"Yah-hah! an' ob de lashes dat you gib dis dam kidnapper!" said the negro who held the candle.
"Then stand by and see us settle our last account," cried Randolph. "Let him get up, old Royal."
Old Royal released his hold, and Harry slowly arose to his feet, and stood face to face with his brother.
"Good evening, brother," said Randolph. "We have met again, and for the last time. One of us will not leave this place alive. Take your choice of knives, brother. I will fight you with my left hand; I swear it by my mother's name!"
Harry looked around with a confused glance—
"It is easy for you to talk," he said, brushing his hand over his forehead and eyes, as if in effort to collect his scattered senses. "Even if I kill you, these niggers will kill me. They will not let me leave the door alive, even if I master you."
"Old Royal, you know my history; and you know how this man has treated me and my sister—his own flesh and blood. Now swear to me, that in case he is the victor in the contest that is about to take place, you will let him go from this place free and unharmed?"
"I—I—swear it massa 'Dolph; I swear it by de Lord!"