I often wandered toward the parsonage, but never sought an interview with Helen. At times I caught a glimpse of her light form as it passed by a window or before the open door that led into the hall. One evening I saw my brother enter, and drawing near the window, I saw through the slightly-parted curtain, such evidence of their mutual affection, that, if possible, I became more than ever crazy in my anguish and despair. I waited for him to come out long hours, hours to me of bitterest sorrow, to him of most intense delight. It was an exceedingly cold night. A slight snow had fallen during the day, and the landscape around me glistening in the moonlight, seemed wrapped in a robe of the purest white. Yet as I gazed all seemed to turn into the deep hue of blood--wherever I gazed, every thing presented the same fearful coloring. It was but the shadowy reflection of a coming deed that should forever stain my soul with a deeper red, that the years of eternity could never efface. At length my brother opened the door of the parsonage and came forth. Leaning against the trunk of an old tree but a little distance from them, I saw and heard the parting acts of endearment. At that terrible moment the determination of my soul was made, and I heard the dark devil within me whisper one of you must die. I shuddered at the thought, but when scarcely out of sight of the parsonage, almost as soon as the door had closed upon the form of Helen, I confronted my brother. Sir John started back, surprised. "What, William, is it you?" I laughed scornfully. "My poor brother!" "Do you dare to pity me--ha! ha! ha! Sir John! one of us must die this night--here, upon this spot; here are two pistols, take one of them, and it will be soon seen which is the fated one." Sir John mechanically took the pistol; cocking my own, I retired a few paces, and turning, exclaimed, "Are you ready?" My words recalled him to himself; flinging his pistol far into the wood, he exclaimed, "I will not fire at my brother." "Coward!" "The name belongs not to our race; fire at me if you will, I will not at you." Enraged beyond expression, yet even in my madness ashamed to fire at an unarmed man, I hesitated. My brother spoke. "Come, William, let us go home." "Home!--ha! ha! ha! my home is the wood and the cave! Here, take my good-night." Thus speaking I flung my pistol full at his face with all my strength; it struck him lengthwise, and being cocked, went off in consequence of the concussion. Sir John fell upon the cold snow. I rushed up to him, and beheld the blood flowing in torrents from a ghastly wound; the ball had taken a downward direction, and penetrated the abdomen. "William," he said, faintly, "you have murdered me. God forgive you!"