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TYLNEY HALL. 2.91

VOLUME THE THIRD.

CHAPTER I.

My brother,

Awake ! why liest thou so on the green earth ?

*Tis not the hour of slumber : why so pale?

What hast thou ? thou wert full of life this morn!

* * * * Who makes me brotherless ?

His eyes are open ! then he is not dead !

Death is like sleep; and sleep shuts down our lids.

His lips, too, are : apart why then he breathes ;

And yet I feel it not. His heart ! his heart !

Let me see, doth it beat ? methinks No ! no I

This is a vision, else am I become

The native of another and worse world. BYRON'S Cain.

LIKE a warrior in battle struck suddenly down and stunned

by a heavy mace, and then restored to consciousness by

the grinding thrust of a sharp spear ; so did Raby recover

from the stupor of the first shock but to a more piercing

sense of anguish, as he became fully aware of the miserable

deed he had done. He stood entranced motionless and

mute, for words are inadequate to such woes. There are

intense moments when man becomes a giant in suffering,

and needs a Titanic language to vent such enormous sorrow,

stupendous horror, and vast despair. The earth seemed

reeling beneath him, the sky was whirling round his head,

and his ears were stunned as with the rushing of mighty

waters. It was an appalling mood of mind, to which

nothing could bring relief but instant madness, by deluding

his sense of sight and translating the bleeding object

before him into some less terrible vision.

The movement of St. Kitts, who ran and raised up the

sufferer in a sitting posture, restored the wretched fratricide

to recollection. With an indescribable cry he rushed and

threw himself on his knees before his brother, eagerly gazing

with his face opposed to the dying one, gasping by

sympathy as he gasped, and unconsciously copying every

convulsive working of the features with frightful fidelity.

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