I did not blame him for the rash deed he had wrought, for it was a madman's act. When I recalled the circumstances, I did not wonder at the frantic passion that dyed his hand in blood; and yet I could not blame myself. Had I shrunk from a brother's embrace, I should have been either more or less than woman. I had yielded to a divine impulse, and could appeal to nature and Heaven for justification. But I had sinned. I had broken the canons of the living God, and deserved a fearful chastisement. I had made unto myself an idol, and no pagan idolater ever worshipped at his unhallowed shrine with more blind devotion. I had been true to Ernest, but false to my Maker, the one great and _jealous_ God. I had lived but for one object, and that object was withdrawn, leaving all creation a blank. I stood upon the lonely strand, the cold waves beating against my feet, and the bleak winds piercing through my unsheltered heart. I stretched out my arms to the wild waste of waters, in whose billows my life-boat was whelmed, and I called, but there was none to answer. I cried for help, but none came. Then I looked up to heaven, and high above the darkness of the tempest and the gloom of the deep, one star shining in solitary glory arrested my despairing gaze. I had seen it before with the eye of faith, but never beaming with such holy lustre as now, when all other lights were withdrawn. "Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on my darkness, and lend me thine aid. Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where the infant Redeemer is laid." Why, tender and pitying Saviour, do we wait for the night time of sorrow to fathom the depths of thy love and compassion? Why must every fountain of earthly joy be dried up, before we bow to taste the waters of Kedron; and every blossom of love be withered, before we follow thee to the garden of Gethsemane? CHAPTER LI. Though the circumstance of discovering a brother in the lover of my youth seems more like romance than reality, nothing could be more simple and natural than the explanation of the mystery. His recollection did not go back to the period recorded in my mother's manuscript, when he was brought as a lawful heir to the home in which my early infancy was sheltered. His first remembrances were associated with a mother's sorrow and loneliness,--with an humble dwelling in one of the by-lanes of the city of New York, where she toiled with her needle for their daily bread. "I remember," said Richard, "how I used to sit on a low stool at my mother's feet, and watch her, as she wrought in muslin the most beautiful flowers and devices, with a skill and rapidity which seemed miraculous to me. Young as I was, I used to wonder that any one could look so sad, while producing such charming figures. Once, I recollect, the needle resisted her efforts to draw it through the muslin. She threw it from her, and taking another from the needle-case met with no better success.