Nature's brutish love for murder had deluged my soul.

I put my hand to my side for the purpose of drawing my sword or my knife.

I had neither with me.

Then I remember staggering toward the fireplace to get one of the fire-irons with which to kill my cousin.

I remember that when I grasped the fire-iron, by the strange working of habit I employed it for the moment in its proper use; and as I began to stir the embers on the hearth, my original purpose was forgotten.