“The first crime is the Rubicon of guilt already crossed. Man, like
that beast of prey which tasting human blood will touch no other, if
perchance he stain his finger in his fellows' blood, is not content till he
wash both hands in it. The first crime, give it leisure and convenience,
will have its second.”

A DECLARATION—SOLILOQUY—A MEETING BETWEEN THE
BROTHERS—ITS TERMINATION—A FLIGHT.

But a few days had expired since the events just
related, and the fields of ice had been swept to the
ocean. The beautiful river flowed onward silently
and majestically, gently meandering along the verge
of green meadows, or darting swiftly with noise and
foam around projecting rocks—its pellucid bosom
dotted with white sails, its sloping hills bursting
into green luxuriance, and its overhanging forests
enveloping themselves in their verdant robes.

Achille had passed the day ostensibly in hunting,
but really to prey undisturbed, in the deep-wooded
solitude of the cliffs, upon his diseased spirit.

The approach of night found him leaning
on his hunting piece, his empty game-bag lying
at his feet, standing upon the summit of a cliff
which overhung the river. The sun had just gone
down beyond the hills of Monmouth in his own
created sea of sapphire, the western star hung

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

tremblingly in the heavens, while the crescent moon,
half unveiling her chaste face, shed a holy light
down upon the earth, mingling her pale rays with
the golden hues of twilight.

The scene of his cousin's rash adventure and his
brother's triumph lay beneath him. A calm and
hallowed silence, broken only by the gurgling of
the waters as they swept by among the loose rocks
at the base of the cliff, or the sighing of the trees as
they waved heavily to the low, night wind, reigned
around him. The wildest spirit becomes gentler
under the soothing influence of such a time! But
the bosom of the young man was insensible to every
external impression. With a troubled brow and
trembling lip, while he crushed a starting tear beneath
his eyelids, he communed with his own wounded
spirit.

“Virgin mother! have I not loved her! loved her
as man seldom loves! Loved her did I say?—was
she not the object of my thoughts by day—the bright
spirit of my dreams! Did I not adore, (forgive me,
Mary mother!) worship her next to thee? Was
not her image enshrined within the inner and most
hallowed temple of my soul? Oh God, oh God!”
and he leaned his head upon his gun, and the big
tears coursed down his manly cheek.

The momentary weakness—if sorrow for shattered
hopes, and crushed aspirations be weakness—soon
passed away, and he stood up with a firm and collected
manner. His brow gradually became set, his
eye glowed, and a withering expression of rage,
curled and agitated his lip, while he continued in a
changed voice—

“Burning, burning truth! my thoughts will consume
me! I would not have profaned her hand by
a careless touch—yet I have beheld her in my
brother's arms!” With fearful calmness he uttered
these last words and in the same tone, added,

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

“The cheek by me held sacred—its profanation
sacrilege! I have seen laid upon his bosom. Nay!
I will think of it—turn each minute circumstance
over and round that I may survey it well—for it
feeds a passion I must let live, or die myself! Yes,
that cheek, that rich, delicate cheek, with the hue of a
rosy cloud, have I seen reposing upon my brother's—
imbibing from it life and warmth! I have beheld her
tresses mingled with his, her sylph-like waist encircled
in his embrace, and knew that their throbbing hearts
beat together, as in one bosom, beneath the wave.
And I remained silent!—calm!—for myself—
calm. Calm! I burned,—my glowing bosom was
in flames—yet—”

His dark meditations were interrupted by the hum
of low voices, ascending from the beach at the foot of
the cliff upon which he stood. Leaning over the precipice
he looked down, but the deep shadows at the
base obscured every object. Yet he listened with
every sense dilated and resolved into one single one,
as the wily Indian watches for the light footfall of
his foe; his expanded ear alone the organ of communication
with external objects.

A low melodious voice rose upon the still air like
music. It fell upon the heart of the listener, not as
melody falls upon the soul, soothingly, but with
the unholy influence of a spell, withering it to its
core.

“Nay, Henri, I love him not, I fear his wild and
ungovernable spirit—I fear, but I love him not!”

“But now, you said, dear Gertrude, that you could
not refuse your admiration for what you have termed
my fiery brother's noble nature and chivalrous
spirit. Are not these the qualities that win a maiden's
heart?”

“How little you are skilled, my dear Henri, in that
riddle,—a woman's heart! Such qualities may allure,
but never win. Achille can, and will command,

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

but never win, esteem. He may elicit admiration,
but never love!”

This was the language of the being Achille so
madly worshipped. And did he listen to the silvery
tones of her voice, thus crushing forever all his
hopes, in silence? Yes, such silence as precedes the
earthquake before it bursts. The voices had died
away, but they still rung with fearful echoes through
his bosom. In a few moments, whilst he stood transfixed,
overwhelmed by a wave of passions, a winding
in their path, brought the voices of his brother
and cousin again within reach of his ear, and as
they walked slowly along, he saw the white garments
of Gertrude glancing through the branches
of the intervening trees.

“Then, then it shall be yours, if the gift be worth
accepting!” he heard, in a scarcely audible voice.

“Rich—lovely treasure!” warmly exclaimed the
happy and favoured youth, seizing the graceful
hand she had ingenuously given him, and pressing
it passionately to his lips.

“Hell and devils!” muttered Achille through his
set teeth, and striking his forehead with his clenched
hand.

He had stood till now, with suppressed breath, a
burning eye and expanded ear, like a statue of
stone. But he could endure no more; and scarcely
suppressing a fierce cry, he sprung, leaping and
bounding like a mad-man, down the face of the
precipitous rock, in a direction opposite to that
taken by the lovers, and in a moment stood upon
the beach.

Hour after hour he paced the hard white terrace
of sand, and strove to calm the raging tempest in his
bosom. He bared his head to the cool night-breeze—
bathed his heated brow in the clear flood at his feet.
He gazed upon the placid moon and wooed its soothing
influence—upon the solemn forests and peacefully

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

flowing river; but the low voice of nature spoke to
his warring spirit in vain. Hour after hour passed
away, and he had given himself up to the guidance
of the dark spirit he could not control, and had
purposed revenge.

“The exulting boy shall feel what it is to cross
my path. He shall die! by heaven, he shall die!”
he whispered, through his compressed lips. At
the same instant a loud voice from the cliff rung in
his ear.

“Achille! Achille! are you there?” It was his
brother. Ascending the cliff with rapidity, the
next moment Achille was at his side.

“No, brother,” he sarcastically replied, with his
mouth close to his ear, “I am not there, but here!”
and as he spoke his voice sounded hoarse and unearthly.

Henri started; but observed, without further noticing
his brother's singular manner, that his father
having apprehensions for his safety, from his remaining
so long abroad, had requested him to seek him.

“Have you met with any game, brother?” he
enquired.

“Yes brother, a sweet dove and a cunning
hawk.”

“Did you secure the birds?”

“Aye, the hawk, but the dove,—the dove, although
it wounded me with its angry bill, I could
not stain its snow-white plumage with red blood.
But the subtler bird I have meshed.”

“Brother, your language and manner is strange
and unwonted, and your face by this faint light
looks pale and haggard. Have you met with aught
to embitter your spirit during the day?”

They now, having walked slowly forward while
speaking, stood upon the spot where Henri and
Gertrude plighted their loves in the sight of Achille.
He made no reply to his brother's inquiry, but

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

stopping suddenly, seized him with energy by the arm,
and gazed fixedly and revengefully upon his face.

“What mean you, brother? unhand me Achille!”
exclaimed Henri, alarmed.

The fires within, smothered for a brief space,
now raged tumultuously and fierce, breaking out
like a volcano, long pent up in the bosom of the earth.

“Know you where you stand?” he loudly and
angrily demanded.

“Release me, brother—what is your mad purpose?”

“Aye, mad!” he reiterated. “Yes, I am mad.
Know you where you stand?” he repeated, in a
harsh voice, while his eyes glowed visibly even
in the darkness of the deep shadows in which
they stood.

“God of heaven!” he shouted fiercely on receiving
no reply. “Speak, craven, or thus, I'll crush
you!” and with his iron fingers he pressed the
throat of his victim.

“Unhand me, brother!” cried Henri, till now unresisting
in the grasp of one, from whom he apprehended
no real injury, and whose violent rage he
supposed would soon subside. But he knew not the
irresistible power of the stream which he himself,
perhaps unconsciously, had contributed to swell.
He had not traced it from the fountain through all
its devious and subterranean windings, fed by a
thousand hidden springs, until it approached the
precipice over which it was about to thunder terrible
and mighty cataract.

“Do me no harm, Achille, I am your brother!”
he exclaimed, and with a strong effort freed his
throat from his grasp.

“So was Abel his brother's brother, and so—”
and his lip withered with scorn and hatred as he
spoke:—“and so is Henri MINE! but revenge—I
love dearer still. Henri, I hate you? Know you
this accursed spot, I again repeat?”

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

Henri now released from his violent hold stood
proudly up, and bareing his pale brow to the moonlight,
which fell down upon it through an opening
in the foliage like the visible presence of a blessing,
answered,

“I do, sir; it is consecrated ground; and I learn
from your strange language and manner, that you
have witnessed the sacred ceremony which hallowed
it!”

He spoke calmly, and in a tone of dignity, while
a proud, if not sarcastic smile played faintly over
his lips. Achille already insane with passion,
fiercely shouted,

“And it shall be doubly consecrated by a sacrafice
of blood! Proud fool, your mockery has sealed
your fate. I needed only this,” and springing
fiercely upon him, he seized him by the breast with
one hand, and, glancing in the moon while he
brandished it in the air, his glittering huntingknife
descended like lightning into the bosom of
his victim. The warm blood spouted into the
face of the fratricide, and bathed his hand in
gore.

“Oh, Gertrude—my father—God—brother! I
for-forgive,” he faintly articulated, and with a
groan that sunk to the heart of the murderer, fell
heavily to the ground.

For a few moments the guilty being stood over
the prostrate body, with his arm outstretched in the
position in which he had given the fatal blow, his
features rigid his eyes glazed, and his whole person
as motionless as marble—the statue of a murderer
chiselled to the life! During that brief moment he
endured an eternity of suffering. The torments of
ages were expressed into one single drop of time!

Who may tell the feelings of the impulsive murderer
as he sees the life-blood gush out—the features
pale and stiffen, and the strong man become

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

at once a cold corpse at his feet, and when conscience
asks, who has done this—“I, I, I,”—oh,
how bitterly is the confession wrung from his bosom.

But we will not dwell upon this scene. The
fratricide fled, beneath the cold moon and glittering
stars, which like eyes of intelligence seemed to
look down reprovingly upon him. On he fled, nor
dared to look up to them; the little light they shed
became hateful, and he felt as though he would
draw darkness around him like a garment, hiding
himself from both God and man.

“Oh that the rocks would fall upon me and hide
me ever from myself!” he groaned inwardly; and
a loud voice within cried, “Vain, vain! live on!
live on forever!” And he buried his face in his
cloak and fled still onward.

The morning broke, and the miserable fugitive
still pursued the path which led along the shores of
the river to the sea. As the light increased, he
saw, for the first time, that his dress was sprinkled
with his brother's blood. He shuddered, and the
fatal scene rushed once more upon his mind in all
its horrors. Hastily plunging into the river, (alas!
for the tales of blood, of which river and sea are the
dumb repositories!) he removed all traces of the
deed he had committed, from his person.

Two hours before sunset he came in sight of the
bay, its bosom relieved by many green islands and
dotted with white sails. He hailed the broad
ocean in the distance with a thrill of pleasure.

Hastening to the coast, which was guarded by
lofty mural precipices, he swung himself down their
sides with that daring wrecklessness which is often
the surest means of success, and throwing himself
into a small boat which had been left in a cove by
some one of the fishermen, whose huts were scattered
in picturesque sites along the cliffs of the romantic
and rock-bound coast, he raised the little
sail, and steered out to sea.

[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]