"The same. But let me hurry on. The real will is still in possession of the solicitor, and it gives all the estates of Burnley Hall, in Cornwall, to John, in the event of Peggy's death."

"I begin to see," said d.i.c.k.

"My reward was to have been great, if I managed the affair properly. I have never had it, and, alas! I need it not now.

"But," he continued, "your villainous uncle was too great a coward to have Peggy murdered. His last words to me on board the steamer before I sailed were: 'Remember--not one single drop of blood shed.'

"I might have done worse than even I did, but these were the words that instigated my vile plot, of which I now most heartily repent. All I had to do was to get apparent proof of Peggy's death."

"And my Uncle John now holds the estates of Burnley Hall? Is that so?"

"He does. The solicitor could not help but produce the will, on hearing of Peggy's capture and death.

"That, then, is my story, gentlemen. Before Heaven I swear it is all true. It is, moreover, my deposition, for I already feel the cold shadow of death creeping over me. Yes, I will sign it."

He did so.

"I makee sign too," said Kaloomah.

"That is the man whom I hired to do the deed," said Peter again.

And Kaloomah made his mark.

"I feel easier now, gentlemen" continued Peter. "But leave me a while.

I would sleep."

Kaloomah had all a savage's love for the horrible, and he was merely an interested spectator of the tragedy that followed.

Between him and Peter lie two poison-tipped arrows.

At first Peter looks at them like one dazed. Then he glances upwards at the glorious sunshine streaming in through the opening.

Nearer and nearer he now creeps to those arrows!

Nearer and nearer!

Now he positions them with his manacled hands.

Then strikes.

In half an hour's time, when Burly Bill entered the cave to inform the prisoners that it was time for them to be on the road, he started back in horror.

Peter, fearfully contorted, lay on the floor of the cave, dead.

Some weeks after this the party found themselves once more near to the banks of the rapid Madeira.

Everything had gone well with those captains and peons whom they had left behind, and now every preparation was made to descend the stream with all possible speed, consonant with safety.

They had taken Kaloomah thus far, lest he should return and bring another army to attack them.

And now a kind of drum-head court-martial was held on this wild chief, at which even Charlie and Benee were present.

"I really don't see," said Roland, "what good has come of saddling ourselves with a savage."

"No, I agree with you, Roll," said d.i.c.k. "Peter has gone to his account, and really this Kaloomah has been more sinned against than he has sinned."

"What would you advise, Bill?"

"Why, I'd give him a rousing kick and let him go."

"And you Benee?"

"I go for hangee he."

"Charlie, what would you do?"

Charlie was smiling and rubbing his hands; it was evident he had formulated some plan that satisfied himself.

"I tie dat savage to one biggee stake all by de ribber, den watch de 'gator come, chumpee, chumpee he."

But a more merciful plan was adopted. Kaloomah evidently expected death, but when Roland himself cut his bonds and pointed to the west, the savage gave just one wild whoop and yell, and next moment he had disappeared in the forest.

Were I beginning a story instead of ending one, I should not be able to resist the temptation to describe that voyage down the beautiful Madeira.

It must suffice to say that it was all one long and happy picnic.

Just one grief, however, had been Peggy's at the start. Poor Dixie, the pony, must be left behind.

She kissed his forehead as she bade him good-bye, and her face was wet with tears as she turned her back to her favourite.

Roland did what he could to comfort her.

"Dixie will soon be as happy as any horse can be," he said. "He will find companions, and will live a long, long time in the wilds of this beautiful land. So you must not grieve."

There are times when people in this world are so inexpressibly happy that they cannot wish evil to happen even to their greatest enemies.

They feel that they would like every creature, every being on earth, to be happy also.

Surely it is with some such spirit that angels and saints in heaven are imbued.

Had you been on board the steamship _Panama_ as she was swiftly ploughing her way through the wide blue sea that separates Old England from South America, from Para and the mouths of the mighty Amazon, you could not have been otherwise than struck with the evident contentment and happiness of a group of saloon pa.s.sengers there. Whether walking the quarter-deck, or seated on chairs under the awning, or early in the morning surrounding their own special little breakfast-table, pleasure beamed in every eye, joy in every face.