On that night Doctor Louis held a private conference with Lauretta, and received from her an account of the unhappy difference between the brothers. As Silvain and Kristel had both loved one woman, so had Eric and Emilius, but in the case of the sons there had been no supplanting of the affections. Emilius and Patricia had long loved each other, and had kept their love a secret, Eric himself not knowing it. When Emilius discovered that his brother loved Patricia his distress of mind was very great, and it was increased by the knowledge that was forced upon him that there was in Eric's passion for the girl something of the fierce quality which had distinguished Kristel's passion for Avicia. In his distress he had sought advice from Lauretta, and she had undertaken to act as an intermediary, and to endeavour to bring Eric to reason. On two or three occasions she thought she had succeeded, but her influence over Eric lasted only as long as he was in her presence. He made promises which he found it impossible to keep, and he continued to hope against hope. Lauretta did not know what had passed between the brothers on the previous evening, in the interview of which I was a witness, but earlier in the day she had seen Emilius, who had confided a secret to her keeping which placed Eric's love for Patricia beyond the pale of hope. He was secretly married to Patricia, and had been so for some time. When Gabriel Carew heard this he recognised how unjust he had been towards Emilius and Patricia in the construction he had placed upon their secret interviews. Lauretta advised Emilius to make known his marriage to Eric, and offered to reveal the fact to the despairing lover, but Emilius would not consent to this being immediately done. He stipulated that a week should pass before the revelation was made; then, he said, it might be as well that all the world should know it--a fatal stipulation, against which Lauretta argued in vain. Thus it was that in the last interview between Eric and Lauretta, Eric was still in ignorance of the insurmountable bar to his hopes. As it subsequently transpired, Emilius had made preparations to remove Patricia from Nerac that very night. Up to that point, and at that time nothing more was known; but when Emilius was tried for the murder Lauretta's evidence did not help to clear him, because it established beyond doubt the fact of the existence of an animosity between the brothers.
On the day following the discovery of the murder, Emilius did not make his appearance in the village, and officers were sent in search of him. There was no clue as to the direction which he and Patricia had taken, and the officers, being slow-witted, were many days before they succeeded in finding him. Their statement, upon their return to Nerac with their prisoner, was, that upon informing him of the charge against him, he became violently agitated and endeavoured to escape. He denied that he made such an attempt, asserting that he was naturally agitated by the awful news, and that for a few minutes he scarcely knew what he was doing, but, being innocent, there was no reason why he should make a fruitless endeavour to avoid an inevitable inquiry into the circumstances of a most dreadful crime.
He was much broken down by his position. No brother, he declared, had ever been more fondly loved than Eric was by him, and he would have suffered a voluntary death rather than be guilty of an act of violence towards one for whom he entertained so profound an affection. In the preliminary investigations he gave the following explanation of all within his knowledge. What Lauretta had stated was true in every particular; neither did he deny Carew's evidence nor the evidence of the villager who had deposed that, late on the night of the murder, high words had passed between him and Eric.
"The words," said Emilius, "'Well, kill me, for I do not wish to live!' were uttered by my poor brother when I told him that Patricia was my wife. For although I had not intended that this should be known until a few days after my departure, my poor brother was so worked up by his love for my wife, that I felt I dared not, in justice to him and myself, leave him any longer in ignorance. For that reason, and thus impelled, pitying him most deeply, I revealed to him the truth. Had the witness whose evidence, true as it is, seems to bear fatally against me, waited and listened, he would have been able to testify in my favour. My poor brother for a time was overwhelmed by the revelation. His love for my wife perhaps did not die immediately away; but, high-minded and honourable as he was, he recognised that to persevere in it would be a guilty act. The force of his passion became less; he was no longer violent--he was mournful. He even, in a despairing way, begged my forgiveness, and I, reproachful that I had not earlier confided in him, begged his forgiveness for the unconscious wrong I had done him. Then, after a while, we fell into our old ways of love; tender words were exchanged; we clasped each other's hand; we embraced. Truly you who hear me can scarcely realise what Eric and I had always been to each other. More than brothers--more like lovers. Heartbroken as he was at the conviction that the woman he adored was lost to him, I was scarcely less heartbroken that I had won her. And so, after an hour's loving converse, I left him; and when we parted, with a promise to meet again when his wound was healed, we kissed each other as we had done in the days of our childhood."