“There is no certainty then.  Thy brother may be yet alive.”

“There can be no doubt of his death.  Thirty years have elapsed, and were he in existence he must have been heard of.  Twelve years afterwards my Frances died, leaving me two children, a son and infant daughter.  God saw fit, in his providence, to take my boy, but left me Faith, to lay my grey hairs in the grave.  It will not be long before she will do me that service.”

Mr. Armstrong ceased speaking, and silence succeeded, which was at last broken by the Solitary.  He bent his brows with a keen, searching glance upon his guest, and said: 

“Thou wert false to thy brother.”

“Yes, and his blood cries against me.  Whither shall I turn to hide my guilt?”

“Thou dost repent, then, of thy treachery?” inquired Holden, who seemed determined to probe the wound to the bottom.

“Alas! restore to me the morning of life; place me in the same circumstances, and I should fall again.  I should be irresistibly attracted by a heart that seemed made for mine.”

“In her arms thou didst forget the brother, whom thy cruelty had doomed to the maniac’s cell and chain?” said Holden.

“Never! his image is graven on my heart.  I have never ceased to think of him.”

“Thou wouldst know him should he stand before thee?”

“Know him! aye, amidst ten thousand.  No years could make such changes as to hide him from me.  But he is in his grave, while his murderer lives.”

“Thou didst find compensation for lamentation over the dead, in the caresses of the living?”

“True, too true.  While Frances lived, she was my heaven.  It was necessary that this idol should be torn from me.  My son, too.  Oh, James, my son! my son!”

Holden, during the conversation, had been unable to keep his seat, but with the restlessness of his nature had been walking across the room, stopping occasionally before Armstrong.  The last expression of feeling evidently affected him.  The rapidity of his steps diminished; his motions became less abrupt; and presently he laid his hand upon the shoulder of Mr. Armstrong.

“Thy tale,” he said, “is one of sorrow and suffering.  Thou didst violate thy duty, and art punished.  No wrong shall escape the avenger.  As it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.’  But it is also written, ’He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repenteth him of the evil.’  Thou art after all but an instrument in the hand of One mighty to do.  Even out of crime He works out the purposes of his will.  Thou knowest not from what sin and sorrow an early death may be the refuge.  Commit thyself to the hands of the Lord, nor grieve as one without hope.  Thy brother liveth, and thou shalt yet behold him.”

“I know he lives, and at the Judgment shall I behold him,” said Armstrong, shuddering, “to upbraid me with his murder.”