The St. Johns herald., 1896-12-12
Allan might finish his writing and com.


 in search of the poison. It would ther
 be necessary for David to speak aloud
 and explain, and his brother would suffer the torture of humiliation. Ina
 would not do. Better to carry away the
 vial and make no explanations, unless they were demanded. He was about to steal out of the room when the thought struck him that his brother, Ii determined, could secure death by other means than this one bottle of poison There was loaded revolver in the drawer-that must be taken away. But what was to prevent Allan from obtain. ing more poison?
 He was accustomed to buy his own medicines, and now he was strong enough to get about. Ah, there were so many ways!
 The blind man seated at the table wrote on, feeling his way carefully along the folds in the paper. David crOuched upon the edge of the bed, watched him and thought:
 No; merely to remove the means of death would not save Allan. The only hope lay in appearing to him, in plead ing with him for his own life, in ccnjur- ing him by the love which held them together, not to do this terrible wrong. What should he say? David WAS not easy of speech. His very thoughts were blunt, ill-assorted and confused. Deep in his soul he felt that his brother was about to make a mistake-one of the most awful of which life contained a possibility. This feeling was inde- pendent of religion or of superstition; it was part of David's very existence. But how was he to speak of this to Allan, who seemed to understand every thing so much better than he?
 And now it suddenly occurred to him that he really did not know his brother Evidently this desire of self-destruc- tion had been in Allan's thoughts for many weeks, and yet he, nearest to him of all beings on earth, had never been allowed to suspect it. This was why Allan had been so calm and had accepted his misfortune so lightly. Tor lures of sorrow there must have been, agonies of ruined hope, all endured In secrecy and silence. It seemed to David that he himself, and not Allan, must have lacked the power of sight.
 But what was to be done now?
 The pencil was still moving slowly over the paper. David rose from the bed, and resuming his place behind the blind man read on:
 ''This concerns you and me and no one else; is it not so, brother? The world is far away from us; we are alone together"
 'Now, what has existence for me? When first I learned I was to be always blind and cripple there came with the knowledge an impulse for death. But put it away and said: No, let me think of this more fully. The calamity seems now to sweep over all of life. Perhaps when am more calm I shall find that much remains untouched.' So waited and thought, and in the end found one thing, the happiest of being with you. That is real and lasting, and for a time 1 asked myself if 1t were not enough. But I remembered that my existence, wretched and useless as t was, meant more of labor and hard ship for you, and I thought, too, of what sorrow you must feel for me, and -hn nloo 0P hnirO f11,., aI o bitterness. There was nothing left.
 ''But yOu-you love me and you have l right to my life It Is for your sake hat 1 have spent these long weeks in 'ilent, solitary debate, after every other loubt was cleared away. At one time had almost decided to beg my life of you, as 1 might any other favor, but Jared not. Yet am begging 1t now liter have taken 1t.
 Dear brother, know that you are lnselfish. I believe that for my sake Tou would give up the greatest happi- less which life affords-as I would for To1. Can you not, then, allow me the title that I take when I deprive my elf and you of my existence? If, now, he conditions were reversed-if were he one to be strong and we'll, while 'ou were crippled and blind-I try to hink of it in that way, in order that I nay understand 1t better and judge nore fairly-I should, of course, feel ln intense sorrow"
 What was the matter? The pencil vas moving slower and slower. At last stopped. David looked up at his )rOther's face and saw 1t working with strong emotion. Then, after moment the pencil went on:
 that you should suffer so, and it would be an unspeakable happiness to lelp, to work for you-you would be Iearer to me than, thousand times, } han if"
 "Oh, what am I sayingw exclaimed he blind man. aloud. The pencil drop ed from his fingers aad he threw him. elf back in his chair. "I could not let | jim go," he cried; 'it would be cruel | n him to leave me. But I-what will | e-Oh, Davyw
 He leaned upon the table with his | ace resting In his open hands, while David stood watching almost breath ass in the struggle to Keep silent. At ast Allan caught up the sheets of pa er on which he had been writing and | ore them to fragments.
 Tt is over." said David. He restored he bottle to its place and crept past is brother out of the room. Presently Illan heard the street door noisily open nd shut and David's tread sounded pon the stairs.
 That night, as the brothers were bout to retire. Allan said:
 David, there is something that I Eant tn nrnmisn vnn | have already |