The baronet instantly struck him with his fist, exclaiming, "You damned rascal!" The next instant his eye seemed to light upon the Dutch hoe, which Chandos had left leaning against the pillar. He snatched it up, struck the steward a violent blow on the head with it, which brought him instantly to the ground, and added another as he fell. Chandos sprang up, struggled over the hedge, and ran forward. But his brother, hearing some one coming, darted away up the shrubbery walks, and was out of sight in a moment. Kneeling down by poor Roberts's side, the young gentleman raised his head. But what was his horror and distress, when he found that the two middle fingers of his left hand rested in a deep indentation in the skull, while a gaping wound in the scalp, cut by the iron of the hoe, was pouring forth blood profusely! Bending closely down, he saw a portion of the brain mingled with the gray hair; and, with a feeling of sickening horror at his heart, he laid the body gently on the ground again, and gazed at it for several minutes, as if the sight had turned him into stone. Oh, what a dark and terrible moment was that! What a whirlpool of horrible thoughts did his brain become! What anguish of mind--what wavering hesitation of purpose--what indignation--what sorrow did he not feel! The first impulse was to run and call for assistance; but then he shook his head, and murmured "He is dead! he is dead! No aid can ever bring him back to life." Bending down again, he pressed his hand upon the wrist, and then upon the heart. There was no pulsation. All was still for ever! The complicated machine was broken, never to be repaired again. The lamp drowned out, not to be re-lighted. What should he do? How should he act? He had seen an honest, upright, noble-minded man murdered before his eyes: but the murderer was his own brother! They had lain in the same womb; they had hung at the same breast; they had joyed in the same smiles; the same blood flowed in their veins;--and yet one was a murderer, the other, the witness of the crime. It was a terrible struggle. Duty called upon him to denounce the criminal; indignation prompted him to the same course. By that very brother's acts, brotherly love had long seemed extinguished between them. Yet Chandos could not make up his mind to be his brother's accuser, to give him up to trial and to death. "I cannot--I cannot," he said, after a long and painful revery. "Poor Roberts, I can do thee no good; and I cannot be a destroying angel to my own race. 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, I will repay;'" and, turning away from the fatal scene, he hurried back to the small gate which led out towards his own cottage. CHAPTER XX. "Who was that I saw crossing the lawn a little while ago?" said Mr. Tracy, speaking to his valet, who came in to assist him in dressing for dinner.