“Yes,” replied Andrew bitterly. “To all my other crimes can be added that of matricide. At the time I did not care if everybody had died excepting Victoria and myself, but in the years which followed I sincerely repented of my brutal anger toward my mother, who, if she loved Roger more than me, loved me far better than I deserved; but, like all murderers, my repentance came too late.”
“You do not speak of yourself,” interrupted the doctor. “You had no idea of the effect your hasty words would have upon your mother?”
“I certainly did not, but, nevertheless, her death lies on my conscience, and a life-time of repentance cannot wipe out the horror of it from my heart. What next I have to tell you is terrible. It will show you the blackness of a human heart, the unnatural hatred for a twin brother. I could not bear him to come near me. When I saw him caressing Victoria, I could hardly restrain myself from springing at his throat and choking the life out of him. My brain was busy devising plans whereby I might separate them without committing actual murder. I will not say but what I had murder in my heart, but I had not reached that degree wherein I could muster courage and commit the crime. Nearly a year had elapsed, when one day Victoria saw a notice of a famous oculist who had been performing some remarkable cures on people supposed to be blind. She was all enthusiasm at once. I must take Roger without delay and visit the oculist. She was in too delicate health at the time to think of accompanying us. We started, Roger in a state of excitement and joy at Victoria’s last cheering words, that when they next met his eyes would behold her face, and I with black thoughts of evil in my heart toward my brother, for I had resolved that if he regained his eyesight he would not return alive. We traveled by easy coaches until we reached the railroad, and on the third day after leaving home we boarded the train which was to bear us to New York and to the Mecca of Roger’s hopes. I was moody and silent; Roger was hopeful and in gay spirits. He built castles of airy structure with lightning rapidity; he lived a score of future blissful years in less than as many hours, while the train sped on and on. I have often wondered since if the devil took an especial interest in that fateful journey. He must have done. As night approached there came signs of a tempest. Dark threatening clouds rolled up from the western horizon, only to meet the same rapidly approaching from the east. Zigzag flashes of lightning, wierd and grandly beautiful, lighted up for a brief moment the high mountain tops above us and the deep gorges far beneath. Our train seemed, when revealed thus, as if hung by a single thread between mountain and rushing torrent. If my mind had not been so occupied with my own develish thoughts, I might have enjoyed the magnificent spectacle, but the deep rolling thunder seemed only a fitting accompaniment to my mood, the one link needed to complete my gloomy chain of thought. Roger sat quietly in the seat ahead and seemed partly asleep, his head nodding to the motion of the car as it swayed to either side. We were going down a rather steep declivity. I could feel the car tremble like a living creature under the strain bearing upon it. I felt no fear; only an exhilaration born of the impending danger.”
“Would we were being borne to perdition,” I murmured. The thought was scarcely formed when with a shriek human in its agony, the engine gave a mighty bound, there was a sound as if heaven and earth must have come together, and I knew no more until I awoke to find the sun shining upon a scene of ruin and disaster. Terrible groans mingled with curses and with prayers to God, greeted my ears on every side. My body felt benumbed; paralyzed. I raised my head and saw that my lower limbs were firmly wedged between heavy timbers, while my hands were cut and bleeding. My first thought was of Roger. I called his name. No one answered, although I could hear subdued voices in tones of pity, trying to administer words of comfort to the suffering ones around me. Presently a hooded form bent over me. I raised my eyes.
“‘The Virgin Mary be praised,’ I heard a voice exclaim. ‘This man still lives. Help, good comrades! Leave the dead and come to the assistance of the living.’ As in a dream I felt hands working over me, and as the heavy timbers were drawn from my benumbed limbs, and once more the life blood began to flow, the exquisite torture was more than I could endure, and again I fainted.”
Andrew stopped while the doctor wiped the moisture from his brow.
“Do not continue,” said the doctor kindly. “Defer your tale for a time. You are weary. It is too much for you.”
“No, no!” cried Andrew. “Let me unburden my soul. Oh, doctor! if you only knew how I have suffered in my mind. What struggles have been mine, you would pity me, guilty wretch, though I be.”
“I know,” replied the doctor soothingly. “Nothing but sincerest pity fills my heart for you, Andrew. To err is human. You are but human. At that time you had no strong belief in Christ as a merciful mediator between spiritual and temporal things. No light had ever been given you.”
“Ah, no!” sighed Andrew. “I scoffed at God. The devil only controlled my heart.”