“Is the moon gone down—­lights—­bring lights!”

“No, Munro; the moon is still shining without a cloud, and as brightly as if it were day” was the reply of Ralph.

“Who speaks—­speak again, that I may know how to believe him.”

“It is I, Munro—­I, Ralph Colleton.”

“Then it is true—­and I am a dead man.  It is all over, and he came not to me for nothing.  Yet, can I have no lights—­no lights?—­Ah!” and the half-reluctant reason grew more terribly conscious of his situation, as he thrust his fingers into the bleeding sockets from which the fine and delicate conductor of light had been so suddenly driven.  He howled aloud for several moments in his agony—­in the first agony which came with that consciousness—­but, recovering, at length, he spoke with something of calm and coherence.

“Well, Mr. Colleton, what I said was true.  I knew it would be so.  I had warning enough to prepare, and I did try, but it’s come over soon and nothing is done.  I have my wages, and the text spoke nothing but the truth.  I can not stand this pain long—­it is too much—­and—­”

The pause in his speech, from extreme agony, was filled up by a shriek that rung fearfully amid the silence of such a scene, but it lasted not long.  The mind of the landlord was not enfeebled by his weakness, even at such a moment.  He recovered and proceeded:—­

“Yes, Mr. Colleton, I am a dead man.  I have my wages—­but my death is your life!  Let me tell the story—­and save you, and save Lucy—­and thus—­(oh, could I believe it for an instant)—­save myself!  But, no matter—­we must talk of other things.  Is that Brooks—­is that Brooks beside me?”

“No, it is I—­Colleton.”

“I know—­I know,” impatiently—­“who else?”

“Mr. Brooks, the jailer, is here—­Ensign Martin and Brincle, of the Georgia guard,” was the reply of the jailer.

“Enough, then, for your safety, Mr. Colleton.  They can prove it all, and then remember Lucy—­poor Lucy!  You will be in time—­save her from Guy Rivers—­Guy Rivers—­the wretch—­not Guy Rivers—­no—­there’s a secret—­there’s a secret for you, my men, shall bring you a handsome reward.  Stoop—­stoop, you three—­where are you?—­stoop, and hear what I have to say!  It is my dying word!-and I swear it by all things, all powers, all terrors, that can make an oath solemn with a wretch whose life is a long crime!  Stoop—­hear me—­heed all—­lose not a word—­not a word—­not a word!  Where are you?”

“We are here, beside you—­we hear all that you say.  Go on!”

“Guy Rivers is not his name—­he is not Guy Rivers—­hear now—­Guy Rivers is the outlaw for whom the governor’s proclamation gives a high reward—­a thousand dollars—­the man who murdered Judge Jessup.  Edward Creighton, of Gwinnett courthouse—­he is the murderer of Jessup—­he is the murderer of Forrester, for whose death the life of Mr. Colleton here is forfeit!  I saw him kill them both!—­I saw more than