r race; fire at me if you will, I will not
at you."

Enraged beyond expression, yet even in my madness ashamed to fire at
an unarmed man, I hesitated.

My brother spoke.

"Come, William, let us go home."

"Home!--ha! ha! ha! my home is the wood and the cave! Here, take my
good-night."

Thus speaking I flung my pistol full at his face with all my strength;
it struck him lengthwise, and being cocked, went off in consequence of
the concussion.

Sir John fell upon the cold snow. I rushed up to him, and beheld the
blood flowing in torrents from a ghastly wound; the ball had taken a
downward direction, and penetrated the abdomen.

"William," he said, faintly, "you have murdered me. God forgive you!"

It seemed as if my reason came back to me at that terrible moment as
suddenly as it had left me. At the report of my pistol, I had heard a
loud scream in the parsonage, and almost at the same time with myself
Helen rushed up to the side of my brother.

"Oh!" she cried, in accents of agony, "who has done this?"

"Who!" said I, bitterly, "do you ask? You have done it; but no, Helen,
I do not mean it--let us carry him into the parsonage."

With difficulty we lifted the body of my brother, and bearing him into
the house, laid him upon a bed. Helen, who had up to this time been
sustained by the necessity of exertion, fainted beside the body. I
stood gazing upon them in stupid despair. The worthy pastor opened the
door of the room; he had heard an unusual noise, and left his books to
learn the cause.

I stopped not to converse with him, I could not trust myself to speak,
but stooping to the lifeless form of Helen, I imprinted a last kiss
upon her pale lips, and burst from the chamber. I do not know the
result of that fatal night. It may be that my brother and Helen were
both restored to life and happiness. God grant that it was so. It may
be that the spirits of both had already passed to another world when I
broke from the room, leaving the pale and astonished pastor gazing
upon the lifeless bodies of his only daughter and the young lord of
the manor. Years have passed since then, and not a happy hour have
their long ages borne to me; yet methinks if I could but know that my
brother and Helen are living in happiness in the mansion of my
fathers, much that is dark and despairing in the remnant of life would
be taken from the future.

That night I bade farewell to the haunts of boyhood, and the next day
I was out upon t