--it was nearer like a club--to strike his brother.

"Julian, Julian, what are you about? Good Heavens! you would not--you
dare not--give over--unhand me, brother; what have I done, that you
should strike me? Oh! leave me--leave me--pray."

"Leave you? I will leave you!" the villain almost shouted, and smote him
to the ground with his lead-loaded stick. It was a blow that must have
killed him, but for the interposing hat, now battered down upon his
bleeding head. Charles, at length thoroughly aroused, though his foe
must be a brother, struggled with unusual strength in self-preserving
instinct, wrested the club from Julian's hand, and stood on the
defensive.

Julian was staggered: and, after a moment's irresolution, drawing a
pistol from his pocket, said, in a terribly calm voice,

"Now, sir! I have looked for such a meeting many days--alone, by night,
with you! I would not willingly draw trigger, for the noise might bring
down other folks upon us, out of Oxton yonder: but, drop that stick, or
I fire."

Charles was noble enough, without another word, to fling the club into
the river: it was not fear of harm, but fear of sin, that made him trust
himself defenceless to a brother, a twin-brother, in the dark: he could
not be so base, a murderer, a fratricide! Oh! most unhallowed thought!
Save him from this crime, good God! Then, instantaneously reflecting,
and believing he decided for the best, when he saw the ruffian glaring
on him with exulting looks, as upon an unarmed rival at his mercy, with
no man near to stay the deed, and none but God to see it, Charles
resolved to seek safety from so terrible a death in flight.

Oxton was within one mile; and, clearly, this was not like flying from
danger as a coward, but fleeing from attempted crime, as a brother and
a Christian. Julian snatched at him to catch him as he passed: and,
failing in this, rushed after him. It was a race for life! and they went
like the wind, for two hundred yards, along that muddy high-banked walk.

Suddenly, Charles slipped upon the clay, that he fell; and Julian, with
a savage howl, leapt upon him heavily.

Poor youth, he knew that death was nigh, and only uttered, "God forgive
you, brother! oh, spare me--or, if not me, spare yourself--Julian,
Julian!"

But the monster was determined. Exerting the whole force of his
herculean frame, he seized his scarce-resisting victim as he lay, and,
lifting him up like a child, flung his own twin-brothe