recognition of the great sacrifice she has made for her. But he does not
move; he falls at no one's feet; he recognises no nobility, responds to
no higher appeal. Stony and unmoved, he crouches there, and watches and
watches--still curious, or still feeding his hate on the sufferings of
the elder, the forbearance of the younger.

"And on what does he look? You have already heard, but consider it.
Adelaide, despairing of happiness, decides on death for herself or
sister. Both loving one man, one of the two must give way to the other.
Carmel has done her part; she must now do hers. She has brought poison;
she has brought glasses--three glasses, for three persons, but only two
are on the scene, and so she fills but two. One has only cordial in it,
but the other is, as she believes, deadly. Carmel is to have her choice;
but who believes that Adelaide would ever have let her drink the
poisoned glass?

"And this man looks on, as the two faces confront each other--one white
with the overthrow of every earthly hope, the other under the stress of
suffering and a fascination of horror sufficient to have laid her dead,
without poison, at the other one's feet. This is what he sees--_a
brother!_--and he makes no move, then or afterwards, when, the die cast,
Adelaide succumbs to her fear and falls into a seemingly dying state on
the couch.

"Does he go now? Is his hate or his cupidity satisfied? No! He remains
and listens to the tender interchange of final words, and all the late
precautions of the elder to guard the younger woman's good name. Still he
is not softened; and when, the critical moment passed, Carmel rises and
totters about the room in her endeavour to fulfil the tasks enjoined upon
her by her sister, he gloats over a death which will give him
independence and gluts himself with every evil thought which could blind
him to the pitiful aspects of a tragedy such as few men in this world
could see unmoved. _A brother_!

"But this is not the worst. The awful cup of human greed and hatred is
but filled to the brim; it has not yet overflowed. Carmel leaves the
room; she has a telephonic message to deliver. She may be gone a minute;
she may be gone many. Little does he care which; he must see the dead,
look down on the woman who has been like a mother to him, and see if her
influence is forever removed, if his wealth is his, and his independence
forever assured.

"Safe in the darkness of the gloomy recesses of the dancing