“To kill me, villain!” cried Roland, whose interest was already excited to the highest pitch by the renegade’s story.

“Not exactly with our own hands; for I bargained agin that:  but it was agreed you should be put out of the way of ever returning agin to Virginny.  Well, captain, Dick was then to marry the young lady; and then jist step into the major’s estate by virtue of the major’s will,—­the second one you must know, which Dick took good care to hide away, pretending to suppose the major had destroyed it.”

“And that will,” exclaimed Roland, “the villain, the unparalleled villain is still possessed of!”

“No, rat him,—­the devil has turned upon him at last, and it is in better hands!” said Atkinson; and without more ado, he drew the instrument from his bosom and unfolded it before Roland’s astonished eyes.  “Read it,” said Doe, with exulting voice:  “I can make nothing of the cursed pot-hooks myself, having never been able to stand the flogging of a school-house; but I know the fixings of it, the whole estate devised equally to you and the young woman, to be divided according as you may agree of yourselves, a monstrous silly way, that; but there’s no helping it.”

And holding it before the Virginian, in the light of the fire, the latter satisfied himself at a glance that Atkinson had truly reported its contents.  It was written with his uncle’s own hand, briefly but clearly; and while manifesting throughout, the greatest affection on the part of the testator toward his orphan niece, it contained no expressions indicative either of ill-will to his nephew or disapprobation of the part the young man had chosen to play in the great drama of revolution.  And this was the more remarkable as it was dated at a period soon after Roland had so wilfully, or patriotically, fled to fight the battles of his country, and when it might have been supposed the stern old loyalist’s anger was at its height.  A better and more grateful proof that the young man had neither lost his regard nor confidence, was shown in a final codicil, dated in the year of Roland’s majority, in which he was associated with Braxley as executor, the latter worthy having been made to figure in that capacity alone, in the body of the will.

“This is indeed a discovery!” cried Roland, with the agitation of joy and hope.  “Cut my bonds, deliver me, with my cousin and companions,—­and the best farm in the manor shall reward you:—­nay, you shall fix your own terms for your daughter and yourself.”

“Exactly,” said Atkinson, who, although the prisoner was carefully bound, exhibited a jealous disinclination to let the will come near his hands, and now restored it carefully to his own bosom; “we must talk over that matter of tarms, jist to avoid mistakes.  And to begin, captain, I will jist observe, as before, that if you don’t take my offer, and close with me hard and fast, you will roast at an Injun stake jist as sartainly as you are now snugging by an Injun fire; you will, d——­n me, there’s no two ways about it!”