d
them."

"Desperate and degraded man!--I believe, even after this pretended
confession, that you are an impostor to me, as much as you are to the
rest of the world. I now understand some things that were before dark
to me. My life seems to stand in your way--and your cowardice only
prevents you from taking it. You tell me you are a forger--these
letters are forgeries. Mrs Causand is not my mother, nor are you my
brother. Pray, where did you get them?"

"I stole them from our father's escritoir."

"Amiable son! But I weary myself no more with your tissue of
falsehoods. To-morrow we shall cast anchor. I will leave the service,
and devote the rest of my life to the discovery of origin. I will learn
your real name, I will trace out your crimes--and the hands of justice
shall at once terminate my doubts, and your life of infamy--we are
enemies to the death!"

"A fair challenge, and fairly spoken. I accept it, from all my soul.
You refused my hand in brotherly love; for, by the grey hairs of our
common parent, in brotherly love it was offered to you--will you now
take it as a pledge of a burning, a never-dying, enmity between us? It
is at present emaciated and withered--it has been seized up at your
detested gangway--it has been held up at the bar of justice; but it will
gain strength, my brother--there, take it, sir--and despise it not."

I shuddered as I received the pledge of hate; and his grasp, though I
was in the plenitude of youthful vigour, was stronger than my own.

This dreadful conference had been carried on principally in whispers;
but owing to several bursts of emotion on my part, enough had transpired
among those present to give them to understand that I had been claimed
as a brother, and that I had very hard-heartedly rejected the claim.

After we had passed our mutual defiance, there was silence between us
for several minutes; he coiling himself up like an adder in his corner,
and I pacing the deck, my bosom swelling with contending emotions. "If
he should really be my brother," thought I. The idea was horrible to
me. I again paused in my walk, and looked upon him steadfastly; but I
found no sympathy with him. His style of thin and pallid beauty was
hateful to me--there was no expression in his countenance upon which I
could bang the remotest feeling of love. He bore my scrutiny, in his
weakness, proudly.

"Daunton," said I, at length, "you have failed: in endeavouring to make
a tool