"Good evening, brother," said Randolph. "We have met again, and for the last time. One of us will not leave this place alive. Take your choice of knives, brother. I will fight you with my left hand; I swear it by my mother's name!" Harry looked around with a confused glance-- "It is easy for you to talk," he said, brushing his hand over his forehead and eyes, as if in effort to collect his scattered senses. "Even if I kill you, these niggers will kill me. They will not let me leave the door alive, even if I master you." "Old Royal, you know my history; and you know how this man has treated me and my sister--his own flesh and blood. Now swear to me, that in case he is the victor in the contest that is about to take place, you will let him go from this place free and unharmed?" "I--I--swear it massa 'Dolph; I swear it by de Lord!" "And you?" Randolph turned to the negroes. "We does jist as old Royal says," cried the one who held the candle; and the rest muttered their assent. "Take your choice of knives, brother," said Randolph, as his eyes shone with deadly light, and his face, already pale, grew perfectly colorless: "The handles are toward you; take your choice. Remember I am to fight you with my left hand. You are weak, brother, from the wounds on your back. With my left hand I will fight and kill you." Harry Royalton took one of the knives--they were ivory handled, silver mounted, and their blades were long, sharp and glittering--and at the same time surveyed his brother from head to foot. "I can kill him," he thought, and smiled; and then said aloud, "I am ready." The negroes formed a circle; old Royal held the light, and the brothers stood in the center, silently surveying each other, ere the fatal contest began. Every eye remarked the contrast between their faces. Harry's face flushed with long-pent-up rage, and Randolph's, pallid as a corpse, yet with an ominous light in his eyes. Both tall and well formed; both clad in black, which showed to advantage, their broad chests and muscular arms; there was, despite the color of their eyes and hair, some trace of a family likeness in their faces. "Come, brother, begin," said Randolph, in a low voice, which was heard distinctly through the profound stillness. "Remember that I am your slave, and that when I have killed you, I, with sister Esther, also your slave, will inherit one seventh of the Van Huyden estate,--remember how you have lashed and hounded us,--remember the dying words of our father--and then defend yourself: for I must kill you, brother. Come!" Raising the knife with his left hand, he drew his form to its full height, and stood on his defense. You might have heard a pin drop in that crowded cellar. "You damned slave!" shouted Harry, and at the same time, rushed forward, clutching his knife in his right hand. His face was inflamed with rage, his eye steady, his hand firm, and the point of his knife was aimed at his brother's heart.