290 TYLNEY HALL. past the brow of the hill without a single shot ; they then visited Old Sarum and Gatton, for so Ringwood had christened two especially rotten parts of the said eminence, but still without seeing any sitting burrow member who might be forced to accept Chiltern Hundreds of number four. There remained but to try a level of scarcely an acre be- yond the mount ; and here the Creole, by signs, directed the gunner to take his station behind some brushwood, and told him to keep watch over a small open plot, bounded, at about fifteen yards distance, by fern that was breast high. They had hardly been thus ambushed for five minutes, when a movement took place in a patch of fern lofty above the rest, a stir that could not be attributed to the wind, for there was scarcely a breath of air. The Creole pointed it out to his companion, and in a whisper gave him his direc- " tions. Powder costs little ; we must take chance shots. You see that tall thistle ; aim about a yard below it, where you see the stir." Raby shot in the direction recommended, his finger at once pulling both triggers, and the report of two barrels mingled as one. Instantly a shriek, louder than rabbit ever cried in its agony, rent the air. The tall fern was dashed about by the convulsive tossing of human limbs, and in a few seconds the body of a man rolled out of the dense herbage into the open space.- The recoil of the gun, the flash and loud $he report, had produced their full effect on the nerves of Raby ; but horror rooted him to the spot, when, as the smoke cleared away, he saw the convulsed frame of his victim now drawn up till the knees met the face, and then inversely arched till the body rested merely on the heels and the back of the head. The struggle lasted not long : this motion ceased, and the petrified homicide was enabled to recognise, in the countenance of his victim the features of RINGWOOD TYBBEL ! END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
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. u 2