The committal of Sir Alfred Arden for the murder of his twin brother occupied, of course, the attention of the whole country, and became for a time, almost the sole topic of conversation. The very enormity of the crime would, with many, have been a sufficient reason for disbelieving the guilt of the accused; particularly when his amiable temper, gentle manners, and honourable character were taken into consideration; but the malignity which was layed at the root of the story at its earliest promulgation, accompanied the ramifications of report in every direction. Surmises were ingeniously mingled with facts; motives confidently attributed to the simplest and most innocent actions, as well as to those which unfortunately had a suspicious appearance; and ready-made opinions, prejudging the case, were artfully scattered abroad, to be picked up by the many who wanted the power or the habit of thinking for themselves.

Thus, though the personal friends of our hero flocked around him, offering him their utmost support, and refusing to give credit to any allegations derogatory to his honour, still among the indifferent and the slightly acquainted, an almost universal cry of consternation and horror was got up. People moralized about the temptation of great riches, quoted scripture to the same effect, but said the passage ought to have been translated, "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a man who covets riches to enter into the kingdom of God." Others, in a more sentimental strain, spoke of the parties being not only brothers, but twin brothers; and dwelt upon the great affection Sir Willoughby had always shown to Sir Alfred! recounted every exaggerated particular of the rivalship; descanted on jealousy, and repeated from history, ancient and modern, numberless instances of crimes of the blackest die, of which that passion, from the commencement of the world to the present day, had been the fruitful source.

Here the report of Sir Alfred having been very ill-treated in the business, had its effect; and was adduced, though not, of course, in extenuation of such a crime; yet, as accounting for it on principles which experience acknowledged.

What passion so savage as revenge; what revenge so dire as that which is born of jealousy!

Mr. Fips, as a perfectly disinterested person, had, on one pretext or other, contrived to have some conversation with most of Sir Willoughby's servants, and in the course of such conversation, to insinuate the suggestions, and induce the replies, that best suited his purpose; while with long words, long faces, and terrific-sounding technicalities, he managed to arouse their selfish fears, to a degree which banished all better feelings. Then he would shake his head, and allowing his double chin to hang with hypocritical despondency, most devoutly hope that poor Sir Alfred might be found innocent. "In that case," he would add, "it will go hard with some of you, for the poison did not get into the glass without hands; and more likely, I say, to be by any other hands, than those of his own brother." By arts like these, instead of the affectionate respect for our hero, the indignant rejection of the idea of its being possible that he could have committed such a crime, which had else been the spontaneous sentiments of all the household, some were unconsciously rendered almost willing to hear their once beloved young master proved guilty, as the only means of clearing and saving themselves. Such thoughts, however, naturally produced an inward discontent, that, in its turn, gave to their outward demeanour a sullenness and gloom, which had a most baneful effect on the judgments of all with whom they came in contact; for it seemed to those who knew not how it had been produced, to indicate a secret conviction of the guilt of their master.

A thousand times each day was the butler asked by some one of the party assembled in the housekeeper's room at Arden, if he were sure the glasses were quite clean when he took them into the library. Of course he always declared they were, on which, another of the conclave, in a stage whisper, and with a face of mystery, would follow it up, by saying,

"Well, and from that, till we were all called in to see him in the agonies of death, there was no one near the room but their two selves."

"And wasn't the sediment the Doctor found in the bottom of the glass, arsenic?" observed a third.

"And didn't he offer to rinse the glass?" a fourth would ask; "and what could that be for?"

"And so fond of one another as they used to be when they were boys!" ejaculated a fifth.

"It's never been for the estate," said one of the women, and the rest of the female committee agreed with her, that it was owing to both brothers fixing their fancy on the same lady, and that Sir Alfred, that was the handsomest gentleman of the two by far, could not abide being turned off for him that had the fortune. There was many a young man, they observed, that had been the death of the girl that he was fond of, sooner than she should leave him, to go with another.

"And to give it to him at supper-time, too," said the gardener, who was a great politician, "thinking it would be put into the newspaper 'found dead in his bed,' and so hear no more of it."

The old butler could not endure all this, and was so irritated by it, that he would have quitted the house, but that Lady Arden was expected. Poor Lewin, who had long been failing, was overwhelmed by the blow; he became almost childish, at least quite lost his memory, for though he wept incessantly, he scarcely seemed to know why—sometimes speaking of Sir Willoughby as still alive, and sometimes of both brothers as already dead. While at other times, he would attempt to play on the harp, as though nothing had happened, and seem to think it a great hardship, when, from respect to decorum, he was checked by the other servants.

Whenever this occurred, he would sit for hours sounding, one by one, single strings, as if by stealth, with the silent tears of wounded vanity rolling down his cheeks, fancying, poor old man, that it was his music that was despised.

Thus, ever ready to poison joy, or add bitterness to grief, Pride, that arch enemy of our peace, still survives, when the mind is else a wreck.

Pride is surely that evil spirit portrayed in scripture as "wandering to and fro, seeking whom he may devour;" that is, whom he may make wicked—whom he may make miserable; deceiving even the generous of heart, by exalting them in their own opinion, till their pride requires of others a homage which the pride of others will not yield; and so, resenting the supposed deficiency, they cease to be in charity with all men.