But now--what effect does the reader suppose this most awful blow must have had on Mrs. Andinnian? If any one ever deserved commiseration it was surely she. To every mother it would have been terrible; to her it was worse than terrible. She loved her son with the love only lavished on an idol; she had gone forth to his new inheritance in all the pride of her fond heart, counting every day, ay, and every hour, until he should gladden it with his presence. If any mortal man stood on a pinnacle just then above all his fellows in her estimation, that man was her handsome son, Sir Adam Andinnian. And oh! the desolation that fell upon her when the son for whom she cared not, Karl, arrived at Foxwood to break the news. And Karl? Hardly less keen, if any, was the blow upon him. Until then, he did not know how very warm and true was his affection for his brother. Staggering back to the town the same night after his interview with Hewitt--and it seemed to Karl Andinnian that he did really stagger, under the weight of his affliction--he found the prisoner at the police station, and was allowed to see him. Adam did not appear to feel his position at all. Karl thought the passion--or whatever other ill feeling it might have been that prompted him to the fatal deed--was swaying him still. He was perfectly calm and self-possessed, and sat quite at ease while the chief of the station took down sundry reports in writing from the policemen who brought in the prisoner. "I have done nothing that I regret," he said to Karl. "The man has but got his deserts. I should do it again to-morrow under the same provocation." "But, Adam, think of the consequences to yourself," gasped Karl, aghast with dismay at this dangerous admission in the hearing of the officers. "Oh, as to consequences, I shall be quite ready to take _them_," returned the prisoner, drawing himself up haughtily. "I never yet did aught that I was ashamed to acknowledge afterwards." The Inspector ceased writing for a moment and turned round. "Sir Adam Andinnian, I would advise you for your own sake to be silent. Least said is soonest mended, you know, sir. A good rule to remember in all cases." "Very good indeed, Walls," readily assented Sir Adam--who had previously been on speaking terms with the Inspector. "But if you think I shall attempt to disown what I've done, you are mistaken." "It must have been an accident," urged poor Karl in a low tone, almost as though he were suggesting it. "I told Hewitt so." "Hewitt knows better: he saw me take up the gun, level it, and shoot him," was the reply of Sir Adam, asserted openly. "Look here, Wall. The fellow courted his fate; _courted_ it. I had assured him that if he dared to offend in a certain way again, I would shoot him as I'd shoot a dog. He set me at defiance and did it. Upon that, I carried out my promise, and shot him. I could not break my word, you know."