“The urchin is mad!”

“I am not mad; or, if maddened, it is by the crimes, the dangers, of those I love.  Oh!  Mr Wilder, do not leave him.  Since you have been among us, he is nearer to what I know he once was, than formerly.  Take away that mistaken statement of your force; threats do but harden him:  As a friend admonish; but hope for nothing as a minister of vengeance.  You know not the fearful nature of the man, or you would not attempt to stop a torrent.  Now—­now speak to him; for, see, his eye is already growing kinder.”

“It is in pity, boy, to witness how thy reason wavers.”

“Had it never swerved more than at this moment Walter, another need not be called upon to speak between thee and me!  My words would then have been regarded, my voice would then have been loud enough to be heard.  Why are you dumb? a single happy syllable might now save him.”

“Wilder, the child is frightened by this counting of guns and numbering of people.  He fears the anger of your anointed master.  Go; give him place in your boat, and recommend him to the mercy of your superior.”

“Away, away!” cried Roderick.  “I shall not, will not, cannot leave you.  Who is there left for me in this world but you?”

“Yes,” continued the Rover, whose forced calmness of expression had changed to one of deep and melancholy musing; “it will indeed be better thus.  See, here is much gold; you will commend him to the care of that admirable woman who already watches one scarcely less helpless, though possibly less—­”

“Guilty! speak the word boldly, Walter.  I have earned the epithet, and shall not shrink to hear it spoken.  Look,” he said, taking the ponderous bag which had been extended towards Wilder, and holding it high above his head, in scorn, “this can I cast from me; but the tie which binds me to you shall never be broken.”

As he spoke, the lad approached an open window of the cabin; a splash upon the water was heard, and then a treasure, that might have furnished a competence to moderate wishes, was lost for ever to the uses of those who had created its value.  The lieutenant of the “Dart” turned in haste to deprecate the anger of the Rover; but his eye could trace, in the features of the lawless chief, no other emotion than a pity which was discoverable even through his calm and unmoved smile.

“Roderick would make but a faithless treasurer,” he said.  “Still it is not too late to restore him to his friends.  The loss of the gold can be repaired; but, should any serious calamity befall the boy, I might never regain a perfect peace of mind.”

“Then keep him near yourself,” murmured the lad, whose vehemence had seemingly expended itself.  “Go, Mr Wilder, go; your boat is waiting; a longer stay will be without an object.”

“I fear it will!” returned our adventurer, who had not ceased, during the previous dialogue, to keep his look fastened, in manly commiseration, on the countenance of the boy; “I greatly fear it will!—­Since I have come the messenger of another, Captain Heidegger it is your province to supply a fitting answer to my proposition.”