"No, sir; he did not die of any disease, nor suffer any pain."
"What do you mean, young man?"
"He was shot, and instantly killed, in a fight with the Indians."
"Poor Matt!" exclaimed Mr. Rockwood, averting his gaze from me.
"I was as near to him as I am to you now when he fell. He never moved or breathed after he went down," I added.
"Well, he had lived his threescore and ten, and perhaps one could not pass away any easier; but it is grating to one's feelings to know that his brother was shot."
I related to him very minutely the history of Matt Rockwood; and he listened, as may well be supposed, with the deepest interest.
"And so you found your father?" said he, as I concluded the narrative.
"Yes, sir; and I hope yet to save him from himself."
"I hope so; and I am willing to do all I can for you and for him."