The sound awoke my brother from his reverie. He gazed alternately
at me and at the weapon. With a movement equally solemn he stooped
and took it up. He placed the blade in different positions,
scrutinizing it accurately, and maintaining, at the same time, a
profound silence.
Again he looked at me; but all that vehemence and loftiness of
spirit which had so lately characterized his features were flown.
Fallen muscles, a forehead contracted into folds, eyes dim with
unbidden drops, and a ruefulness of aspect which no words can
describe, were now visible.
His looks touched into energy the same sympathies in me, and I
poured forth a flood of tears. This passion was quickly checked by
fear, which had now no longer my own but his safety for their
object. I watched his deportment in silence. At length he spoke:--
"Sister," said he, in an accent mournful and mild, "I have acted
poorly my part in this world. What thinkest thou? Shall I not do
better in the next?"
I could make no answer. The mildness of his tone astonished and
encouraged me. I continued to regard him with wistful and anxious
looks.
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