Page:Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist (1844).djvu/134

 had left unusually early; he, moreover, saw him as he walked home, and spoke to him, and fancied—as my brother took no notice of him—that he wished to avoid him. These circumstances tended at least to justify the suspicious with which he had been inspired; and when, on going to his wife, whom he found fast asleep, she declared that my brother had not been there—although his stick was then standing near the pillow—those suspicions were confirmed. I need not describe the fearful scene which ensued. It will be quite sufficient to say that he was frantic, and that having nearly broken the heart of his wife—whom he had theretofore tenderly loved—by his fierce denunciations, he rushed to the house of my brother, with the view of taking summary vengeance upon him. Here, however, he found that the whole establishment had retired, and when the servant, who answered the bell from the window, perceiving the excitement under which he was labouring, refused to let him in, he loaded my brother with the direst imprecations, and threatened to take away his life. In the morning my brother received a challenge; and although he most solemnly declared, and called his servants to prove it, that at the specified time he was in bed and asleep, he was compelled, by those laws of honour which, although prescribed by barbarism, civilization sanctions, to accept that challenge, and they met. He who felt himself thus deeply wronged fired first, and my brother fired into the air; again he fired at him, and my brother fired into the air again; when the seconds—perceiving that my brother was resolved not to fire at his adversary—withdrew them from the ground. Well—"

"But what became of the lady?"

"Her husband cast her off. He was advised to bring an action against my brother, but he loved her too fondly even then to expose her thus. He has since, I have heard, been most kind to her, although she has never been restored. But from that time, my brother became an altered man. He at once lost the whole of his practice; but, having some little private property, that did not distress him much; it was the knowledge that almost every one believed him to be guilty of the crime, of which he constantly declared that he was innocent, which weighed his spirits down, and eventually broke his heart. As you are aware, I was present at his death, and during his last moments he and I were alone; he was calm—quite calm and collected—and as the last words he uttered were these:—'Dear sister, I die happy in the consciousness of never having broken the seventh commandment;' every doubt vanished: I felt quite sure that he was innocent, and I cannot but think so still: it is this dreadful vision that has suggested the possibility of his having at that solemn moment perverted the truth."

"He would not have done that, be assured," said the reverend gentleman fervently; "such a man as that whom you have described, would not, at such a time, have done that. 1 do not mean to say that there is no probability of this being his spirit—albeit, I am at a loss to understand why it should be thus perturbed—it may be the spirit of your brother: it is possible—it may even be said to be probable—but I do not believe that you have anything to fear."