“I’ll tell you what I am going to do,” said Bill; “and that is, leave this part of the country as speedily as possible.”

“But won’t the officers be upon us immediately?”

“No; if at all, not before to-morrow.  We can make our arrangements to-night, lay in the swamp all day, and leave to-morrow night.  You have a horse already prepared in the swamp; I would advise you to go home without a moment’s delay, and make all necessary preparations for your journey, and be back in the vicinity of your horse before daylight, or as soon after as possible; and to-morrow night we can set out for the cave in the south-west.”

“I believe your plan is a good one; but when shall we meet again?”

“Not until we get away from this section of country; perhaps not until we reach our ultimate destination.  But we have no time to lose, all depends upon dispatch, and we had best be about our preparations.  Good-by, captain.”

“Good-by, my fine fellow.  I thank you for your advice, and hope that when we meet again it will be under more cheering skies, and with brighter prospects before us.  Good-by.”

And thus they parted, to meet again—­where?

Bill hastened back to the cave, where he found Dick in waiting with the horses.  In as few words as possible, Bill explained to his confederate how matters stood, and what measures he had taken; then sending Dick back some distance with the animals, he laid a long train of powder from the cave outward, and at the farthest extremity placed a can of the explosive compound, wherein he had adjusted a slow match, to which he now set fire, and then hastened away with Dick to a place of safety.

Duffel, as we have seen, was thoroughly alarmed by the intelligence communicated by Bill; and like all who depend more on stratagem than on courage, he cowered before the danger which seemed to stare him in the face.  The suddenness of the announcement had not a little to do in producing the result; but when on his way home from the interview, after having more time to contemplate the calamity and his own situation, his fear did not abate.  Every little noise startled him, and his mind was constantly harassed with the idea that officers of justice were after him.  One cause of his trepidation may be traced to the fact of his many and fearful crimes; he knew how deeply he had involved himself in guilt by the abduction of Eveline and the murder of her lover, as he believed, at his own instigation and command; and he felt well assured, now that his intended victim was at large, she would not be slow to act with vigor for his apprehension and punishment.  He knew full well, too, that Mr. Mandeville, when once his eyes were opened, would pursue him with unflagging energy and tireless perseverance, until his crimes were duly expiated to the full extent of the law.  With such knowledge and reflections for companions, well might the guilty wretch quake with fear.  If “conscience makes cowards of us all,” how much more so him, reeking as he was with blood and crime!