"We shall see whether you are sorry. What is a man to believe in? Words? No. Actions speak, not words. False sympathy, lying protestations—what are they worth? Those who use them ought to be trodden in the mud. You hope I shall live many years. We shall see. I have not long to live, I tell you; but you can hasten my death; you can murder me."
"Father!" cried Phœbe, in terror. "Murder you!"
"Murder me. You can do it. If I were to implore you to spare me—to let me live, would you grant my prayer, or would you carry out your wicked designs? We shall see—we shall see. You perceive that I am suffering, and you say you are sorry. Your dead mother knows how far you are speaking the truth; I do not—as yet. It has to be made clear to me. You are my daughter, are you not?"
"Yes, father."
"What kind of love have you given me? What kind of care have you bestowed upon me? For years I have been groaning and suffering here, and you—what have you been doing? Have you attended to me, have you nursed me, have you shown one spark of a daughter's proper feelings? No, not one—not one. Gadding about, going to theatres, dancing, making light friends, laughing, singing, ministering to your vanities, while I, your father, have lain here, cut to the soul by your coldness and want of decent feeling. If it was not in you, you might have pretended it was, and I should have been deceived. It would have made it no better for you, but it might have been better for me. You know that I have a doctor attending me?"
"Yes, father."
"Have you ever asked him how I was—have you ever shown, in a single conversation with him, that you have within you those solicitous feelings which a daughter should have for a suffering father? Have you ever shown—" He did not proceed. He lay back, panting, in his chair, and Jeremiah, without looking up, thought: "What an actor he is! Oh, what an actor he is!"
"Father," said Phœbe, in deep distress, "you do me an injustice. It has always been my wish to attend to you, to nurse you, but you would never allow me. 'Let me alone! let me alone!' you said, and have always repulsed me."
"Why? why?" he asked, raising himself in his chair, and bending so excitedly forward that she was frightened, and cried:
"Don't excite yourself, father; you are not strong enough to bear it."