Mr. Caryll considered them a moment, his face a mask, his mind entirely detached. They interested him profoundly. This subjugation of two natures that in themselves were arrogant and cruel was a process very engrossing to observe. He tried to conjecture what they felt, what thoughts they might be harboring. And it seemed to him that a sort of paralysis had fallen on their wits. They were stunned under the shock of the blow he had dealt them. Anon there would be railings and to spare--against him, against themselves, against the dead man above stairs, against Fate, and more besides. For the present there was this horrid, almost vacuous calm. Presently the woman stirred. Instinct--the instinct of the stricken beast to creep to hiding--moved her, while reason was still bound in lethargy. She moved to step, drawing at her son's hand. “Come, Charles,” she said, in a low, hoarse voice. “Come!” The touch and the speech awakened him to life. “No!” he cried harshly, and shook his hand free of hers. “It ends not thus.” He looked almost as he would fling himself upon his brother, his figure erect now, defiant and menacing; his face ashen, his eyes wild. “It ends not thus!” he repeated, and his voice rang sinister. “No,” Mr. Caryll agreed quietly. “It ends not thus.” He looked sadly from son to mother. “It had not even begun thus, but that you would have it so. You would have it. I sought to move you to mercy. I reminded you, my brother, of the tie that bound us, and I would have turned you from fratricide, I would have saved you from the crime you meditated--for it was a crime.” “Fratricide!” exclaimed Rotherby, and laughed angrily. “Fratricide!” It was as if he threatened it. But Mr. Caryll continued to regard him sorrowfully. From his soul he pitied him; pitied them both--not because of their condition, but because of the soullessness behind it all. To him it was truly tragic, tragic beyond anything that he had ever known. “You said some fine things, sir, to Mr. Templeton of your regard for your father's memory,” said Mr. Caryll. “You expressed some lofty sentiments of filial piety, which almost sounded true--which sounded true, indeed, to Mr. Templeton. It was out of interest for your father that you pleaded for the suppression of his dealings with the South Sea Company; not for a moment did you consider yourself or the profit you should make from such suppression.” “Why this?” demanded the mother fiercely. “Do you rally us? Do you turn the sword in the wound now that you have us at your mercy--now that we are fallen?”