and placed upon the saddle of his horse,
standing by in the pale light of the moon, recorded word after word,
with scrupulous exactness, of the dying man's confession. He proceeded
duly to the narration of every particular of all past occurrences, as we
ourselves have already detailed them to the reader, together with many
more, unnecessary to our narrative, of which we had heretofore no
cognizance. When this was done, the landlord required it to be read,
commenting, during its perusal, and dwelling, with more circumstantial
minuteness, upon many of its parts.

"That will do--that will do! Now swear me, Brooks!--you are in the
commission--lift my hand and swear me, so that nothing be wanting to the
truth! What if there is no bible?" he exclaimed, suddenly, as some one
of the individuals present suggested a difficulty on this subject.

"What!--because there is no bible, shall there be no truth? I
swear--though I have had no communion with God--I swear to the truth--by
him! Write down my oath--he is present--they say he is always present! I
believe it now--I only wish I had always believed it! I swear by him--he
will not falsify the truth!--write down my oath, while I lift my hand to
him! Would it were a prayer--but I can not pray--I am more used to oaths
than prayers, and I can not pray! Is it written--is it written? Look,
Mr. Colleton, look--you know the law. If you are satisfied, I am. Will
it do?"

Colleton replied quickly in the affirmative, and the dying man went
on:--

"Remember Lucy--the poor Lucy! You will take care of her. Say no harsh
words in her ears--but, why should I ask this of you, whom--Ah!--it goes
round--round--round--swimming--swimming. Very dark--very dark night, and
the trees dance--Lucy--"

The voice sunk into a faint whisper whose sounds were unsyllabled--an
occasional murmur escaped them once after, in which the name of his
niece was again heard; exhibiting, at the last, the affection, however
latent, which he entertained in reality for the orphan trust of his
brother. In a few moments, and the form stiffened before them in all the
rigid sullenness of death.

CHAPTER XL.

WOLF'S NECK--CAPTURE.

The cupidity of his captors had been considerably stimulated by the
dying words of Munro. They were all of them familiar with the atrocious
murder which, putting a price upon his head, had driven Creighton, then
a distinguished member of the bar in one of the more civilized portions
of t