reduced himself, seemed all to concur to render some horrid act of
violence not an improbable termination of this strange interview.

Mowbray folded his arms, without unclenching his hands, or raising his
head, while his sister continued on the floor, clasping him round the
knees with all her strength, and begging piteously for her life and for
mercy.

"Fool!" he said, at last, "let me go!--Who cares for thy worthless
life?--who cares if thou live or die? Live, if thou canst--and be the
hate and scorn of every one else, as much as thou art mine!"

He grasped her by the shoulder, with one hand pushed her from him, and,
as she arose from the floor, and again pressed to throw her arms around
his neck, he repulsed her with his arm and hand, with a push--or
blow--it might be termed either one or the other,--violent enough, in
her weak state, to have again extended her on the ground, had not a
chair received her as she fell. He looked at her with ferocity, grappled
a moment in his pocket; then ran to the window, and throwing the sash
violently up, thrust himself as far as he could without falling, into
the open air. Terrified, and yet her feelings of his unkindness
predominating even above her fears, Clara continued to exclaim.

"Oh, brother, say you did not mean this!--Oh, say you did not mean to
strike me!--Oh, whatever I have deserved, be not you the
executioner!--It is not manly--it is not natural--there are but two of
us in the world!"

He returned no answer; and, observing that he continued to stretch
himself from the window, which was in the second story of the building,
and overlooked the court, a new cause of apprehension mingled, in some
measure, with her personal fears. Timidly, and with streaming eyes and
uplifted hands, she approached her angry brother, and, fearfully, yet
firmly, seized the skirt of his coat, as if anxious to preserve him from
the effects of that despair, which so lately seemed turned against her,
and now against himself.

He felt the pressure of her hold, and drawing himself angrily back,
asked her sternly what she wanted.

"Nothing," she said, quitting her hold of his coat; "but what--what did
he look after so anxiously?"

"After the devil!" he answered, fiercely; then drawing in his head, and
taking her hand, "By my soul, Clara--it is true, if ever there was truth
in such a tale!--He stood by me just now, and urged me to murder
thee!--What else could have put my hunting-knife into my