The weekly Thibodaux sentinel and journal of the 8th Senatorial District. [volume] (Thibodaux, Lna. [i.e. La.]) 1875-1898, 1884-05-17

drawn his murderous instrument from
beneath his cloak, than footstep startled
him.
1t cannot be he, he muttered. .sIhe
child has not had time to deliver the
note
He cautiously looked out, and saw q
figure coming towards him from an op-
cloak, the silver band to the cap, the
elastic step, happy light footstep, con
. vlnced the murderer that his brother
stood before him. On came the figure,
softly whistling q tune from an opera.
He Is near the tree. Oh, will no hand
save-nO voice warn him of the death
lurking so nears No he goes On. He
is within range. The fatal bullet, with
deadly noiseless aim, finds its way to the
heart Of its victim. One step forwards,
the hand suddenly pressed to the SIDE,
two whispered names = Mother 7"
Edith "a sinking on the knees, one
convulsive shudder, and it is over.
The murderer stood gazing ON the
lifeless form. He had revenged himself
The usurper of his rights was no more.
The father who had disowned him was
sonless. But the blood went curdling to
his heart as his imagination whispered
the word ''fratricitle in his ear. With
shudder, he turned to leave the spos,
when a second footstep arrested him.
He again concealed himself and looked
out. A tall figure III q cloak and cap
was coming rapidly from the house, the
crisp grass crunching under his quick
footstep. The snow had ceased, and the
wind was drifting the clouds from the
face of the moon and as the stranger
continued to advance, the firm beam OF
moonlight fell across his features.
Great Heaven! Was imagination al
ready investing every form with the
features of his ylctimY That was Ernest's
flashing dark eye, his handsome face,
now wearing on expression Of curiosity
and sympathy.
The fratricide in thought, if not in
act, crouched nearer the tree as the
figure halted and looked round with a
puzzled expression. The latter saw not
the ifeless figure ut his feet until he
stumbled over it; then to stoop and
raise it in his arms, turning the face to
the moonlight, was the WORK of an IL
slant, and cry or horror and surprise
escaped his lips.
Reginald glanced from his hiding
place. The voice was Ernest's. Who,
then, was his victim! The moonlight
cleaned on the white still face, as it
rested Oh Ernest's bosom, and revealed
the features of Gerald Dunkellon.
With a howl like that of despairing
soul, Reginald fled from the spot. He
was murderer, but the victim was one
who had never breethed an unkind word
or usurped single right. He knew not
whittier to flee. He cared not. But as
he flew along, small gate was slowly
opened, ana q female figure came to-
wards him. He did not recognize the
features. He saw nothing but the gate
and he flew towards it.
Murderer the word was gasped
forth, and the hand pressed upon the
painting bosom.
Reginald staggered back and looked
at the girl.
"Ellen?" he faltered.
"Yes Elem" she gasped, speaking
with difficulty. "What mischief have
you been workingl I know all about
that gun. It is an air-gun. Villain!"
see by your distorted countenance that
you have used it y
Silence girl! It is not gun, and 1
have not used it. Let me pass, say.
"You shall not J"
Il will, l say! Hark! can hear
hurried footsteps. Let me pass!'
He roughly tore her from the gate and
went few steps on.
lcoSrr'un.1