Landless rose. "I will come to-morrow night if I can. Till then, farewell,—father." He ended with a smile on his dark, stern face that turned it into a boy’s again. "May the Lord bless thee, my son," said the other in his gravely tender voice. "May he cause His face to shine upon thee, and bring thee out of all thy troubles." As Landless turned to leave the hut the mender of nets had a sudden thought. "Come hither," he said, "and let me show you my treasure house. Should aught happen to me, it were well that you should know of it." He took up the precious flask from the table, and followed by Landless, limped across the hut to the fireplace. The logs above it appeared as solid, gnarled and stained by time as any of the others constituting the walls of the hut, but upon the pressure of Godwyn’s finger upon some secret spring, a section of the wood fell outwards like the lid of a box, disclosing a hollow within. From this hollow came the dull gleam of gold, and by the side of the little heap of coin lay several folded papers and a pair of handsomely mounted pistols. Godwyn touched the papers. "The names or the signs of the Oliverians are here," he said, "together with those of the leaders of the indented servants concerned with us. It is our solemn League and Covenant—and our death warrant if discovered. The gold I had with me, hidden upon my person, when I was brought to Virginia. The pistols were the gift of a friend. Both may be useful some day." "Hide them! Quick!" said Landless in a low voice, and wheeled to face a man who stood in the doorway, blinking into the semi-darkness of the room. The lid of the hollow swung to with a click, the log assumed its wonted appearance, and the mender of nets, too, turned upon the intruder. It was the convict Roach who had pushed the door open and now stood with his swollen body and bestial face darkening the glory of the sunset without. There was no added expression of greed or of awakened curiosity upon his sullenly ferocious countenance. He might have seen or he might not. They could not tell. "What do you want?" asked Landless sternly. "Thought as you might not have heard the horn, comrade, and so might get into more trouble. So I thought I ’d come over and warn you." All this in a low, hoarse and dogged voice. "Don’t call me comrade. Yes: I heard the horn. You had best hasten or you may get into trouble yourself." The man received this intimation with a malevolent grin. "Talking big eases the smart, don’t it?" and he broke into his yelling laugh. "Get out of this," said Landless, a dangerous light in his eyes. The man stopped laughing and began to curse. But he went his way, and Landless, too, after waiting to give him a start, left the hut and turned his steps towards the quarters.