ey were nearing a short angle in the river, the spot where
Charles had been preserved, they noticed for the first time a
rough-looking fisherman, who, unseen, had tracked their steps some
hundred yards; he had a tarpaulin over his shoulder, very unnecessarily,
as it would seem, on so fine and warm a day; and a slouching
sou'-wester, worn askew, flapped across the strange man's face.

He came on quickly, though cautiously, looking right and left; and Emily
trembled on her guardian's feeble arm. Yes--she is right; the fisherman
approaches--she detects him through it all: and now he scorns disguise;
flinging off his cap and the tarpaulin, stands before them--Julian!

"So, sir--you tremble now, do you, gallant general: give me the girl."
And he levelled at his father one of those double-barrelled pistols,
full-cock.

"Julian, my son, I forgive you, Julian; take my hand, boy."

"What--coward? now you can cringe, and fawn, eh? back with you!--the
girl, I say." For poor Emily, wild with fear, was clinging to that weak
old man.

Julian levelled again; indeed, indeed it was only as a threat;
but his hand shook with passion--the weapon was full-cock,
hair-triggered--shotted heavily as always--hark, hark!--And his father
fell upon the turf, covered with blood!

When a wicked man tampers with unintended crime, even accident falls out
against him. Many a one has richly merited death for many other sins,
than that isolated, haply accidental one which he has hanged for.

Julian, horror-stricken, pale and trembling, flew instinctively to help
his father: but Emily has circled him already with her arms; and listen,
Julian--your dying father speaks to you.

"Boy, I forgive--I forgive: but--Emily, no, no, cannot, cannot
be--Julian--she--she is your _sister_!" and the old man swooned away,
from loss of blood and the excitement of that awful scene.

Not a word in reply said that poor sinner, maddened with his life-long
crimes, the fratricide in will, the parricide in deed, and all for--a
sister. But growing whiter as he stood, a marble man with bristling
hair, he slowly drew the other pistol from his pocket, put the muzzle to
his mouth, and, firing as he fell, leapt into the darkly-flowing Mullet!

The current, all too violent to sink in, and uncommissioned now to
save, hurried its black burden to the sea; and a crimson streak of gore
marked the track of the suicide.

The old man was not dead; but a brace of bullets taking effec