Gradually my sight grew clearer, and I rose to my feet. My throat was parched. I went to the sideboard, and pouring out a glass of mineral water, raised it to my lips. In the act of doing this, I turned mechanically, and brought into view that part of the room which I had not yet seen. The glass dropped from my trembling hand, the water untasted.
On the floor, close to the opposite wall, lay the motionless form of a man. This was he, then, who had sought my life, this still form, struck down by my own hand. What I could distinguish of his clothing proclaimed him to belong to the well-to-do classes; a silk hat and gloves, which I had not previously observed, were on a small side table. A nameless horror stole upon me. With slow, stealthy steps I approached and knelt by his side, unconscious at the moment that I was kneeling in a pool of blood. There, gazing with terrified eyes upon him, I waited for a sign which did not come. Not a breath, not the vibration of a pulse. His arm lay across his face. Tremblingly I lifted it aside, and let it fall with a cry of terror on my lips. The face I had uncovered was that of my half-brother Louis! He was dead, and I had killed him! The scar on his forehead was blood-red, and though I was guiltless of causing it, seemed to accuse me; blood was on his face and clothes, there was a wound in his breast—his death-blow—delivered by me whom he hated, by me, who had hated him in life. Oh, cruel fate that made me his murderer!
The shock of the discovery overwhelmed me. I knew what his death meant for me. It did not dawn upon my mind; it came in one sudden, blasting flash. All that had gone before was light in comparison with this mortal blow, which dealt by my own hand, destroyed beyond redemption the newly-born hopes which had filled my heart with gladness. My dream was over. Ellen and I were forever parted.
Oh, God!
I can hear again the echo of the cry of anguish to which I gave in voluntary utterance.
Oh, God! Oh, God!
But of what use appeal to Him? Rather appeal to man, by whom I should be judged; relate my story to the earthly judge before whom I should be arraigned; hide nothing from first to last; expose the remorseless persecution, the vile cunning, the unspeakable degradation which had made my home a hell upon earth; state how I had only landed this night; how, passing through the street I was suddenly attacked and had simply defended myself, as any man would have done under similar circumstances——
Pshaw! Who would believe such a tale? It would be scouted with derision.
If an angel were to come down to testify to the truth of my story he would not be believed. How, then, could I expect to be believed when human witnesses would testify to the hate I bore the man whose spirit was now before God's Judgment Seat? To hope that I could break the chain of evidence that would be brought against me was the hope of a madman.
One by one the candles had gone out; the room was now in semi-darkness. I stood in thought.