m, against themselves, against the dead man above
stairs, against Fate, and more besides. For the present there was this
horrid, almost vacuous calm.

Presently the woman stirred. Instinct--the instinct of the stricken
beast to creep to hiding--moved her, while reason was still bound in
lethargy. She moved to step, drawing at her son's hand. "Come, Charles,"
she said, in a low, hoarse voice. "Come!"

The touch and the speech awakened him to life. "No!" he cried harshly,
and shook his hand free of hers. "It ends not thus."

He looked almost as he would fling himself upon his brother, his figure
erect now, defiant and menacing; his face ashen, his eyes wild. "It ends
not thus!" he repeated, and his voice rang sinister.

"No," Mr. Caryll agreed quietly. "It ends not thus."

He looked sadly from son to mother. "It had not even begun thus, but
that you would have it so. You would have it. I sought to move you to
mercy. I reminded you, my brother, of the tie that bound us, and I would
have turned you from fratricide, I would have saved you from the crime
you meditated--for it was a crime."

"Fratricide!" exclaimed Rotherby, and laughed angrily. "Fratricide!" It
was as if he threatened it.

But Mr. Caryll continued to regard him sorrowfully. From his soul
he pitied him; pitied them both--not because of their condition, but
because of the soullessness behind it all. To him it was truly tragic,
tragic beyond anything that he had ever known.

"You said some fine things, sir, to Mr. Templeton of your regard for
your father's memory," said Mr. Caryll. "You expressed some lofty
sentiments of filial piety, which almost sounded true--which sounded
true, indeed, to Mr. Templeton. It was out of interest for your father
that you pleaded for the suppression of his dealings with the South Sea
Company; not for a moment did you consider yourself or the profit you
should make from such suppression."

"Why this?" demanded the mother fiercely. "Do you rally us? Do you turn
the sword in the wound now that you have us at your mercy--now that we
are fallen?"

"From what are you fallen?" Mr. Caryll inquired. "Ah, but let that pass.
I do not rally, madam. Mockery is far indeed from my intention." He
turned again to Rotherby. "Lord Ostermore was a father to you, which he
never was to me--knew not that he was. The sentiments you so beautifully
expressed to Mr. Templeton are the sentiments that actuate me now,
though I shall make no attempt