“While this conversation was going on Mrs. Rockland was kneeling by the sofa, bathing Lottie’s pale face with eau-de-Cologne, and in a few moments evidence of returning consciousness appeared. I had explained everything in the letter, telling Lottie that if I did not return by eight o’clock she might know that I was killed, because I would communicate further news if wounded. It might appear to be an unpardonable imprudence on my part to write such a letter, but it must be remembered that I did not intend her to receive it unless I was killed. I had written my will, bequeathing my little estate to her, which was also inclosed in the letter. Lottie was not one of the sort of hysterical women who faint every time they see a worm or a spider, but she was brave, sensible, self-reliant and strong, both mentally and physically. But notwithstanding all her courage and self-possession, she was instantly overpowered by the contents of the letter. As soon as she was able to sit up, Harry attempted to take hold of her hand, when she drew back with a convulsive shudder, at the same time uttering a suppressed scream. Then she cast on her brother such a gaze as to chill the blood in his veins--it was a mixture of horror, scorn, contempt and pity. “‘Touch me not, I beg you; that hand is red with a hero’s blood, and Cain’s mark is on your brow. You have murdered the noblest, the kindest, the best man that ever called you friend! Oh! my unhappy, rash, inconsiderate brother, pray on your knees until the “crack of doom” and maybe God will pardon you. How could you be so cruel as to shed the blood of a noble big heart whose every throb was in friendship for you? Had you lost sight of the fact that I owed my life to the poor victim whose blood you wantonly shed? How could you face our mother in Heaven, with Eddie’s blood dripping from your murderous hand? If you were to touch me with that bloody hand of yours, it would kill me in five minutes. Did you hate Edward because he was noble, generous and good? Did you envy his gentle disposition, his even temper and greatness of soul? Oh! blessed Redeemer, have mercy on my unfortunate, rash brother, forgive this awful crime and humble his haughty soul.’ “‘Lottie, I swear by the heavens and all the saints that never have I shed one drop of Ed Demar’s blood; he is a hypocritical villain who has betrayed and deceived you; he has eloped with another woman.’ “‘Harry, don’t slander the dead, I beseech you; that would aggravate the awful crime you have committed. Shame! shame on you! Why not kill me quickly as you did Edward, instead of torturing me to death? Why not shed my blood while your hand is in? I have no desire to live any longer in this wicked, cruel world. Why should such as I be permitted to live in the world, when you have hurled my Eddie into a bloody grave? Why not kill me, too?’