He went to his room and picked up a book, but could not read. He went down to his supper, but could not eat. He tossed about in his bed all night, but he could not sleep.
He had unburdened his mind to Professor Lee, indeed—a thing he had been longing to do for weeks. But it brought him no relief. On the contrary, deeply angered as he was at the professor, a flush of shame crept into his face whenever he thought of the time and place he had chosen for his protest.
His mind became gloomier and his thoughts more desperate every day. He scarcely opened a book to study from it. His brain was dull and unsteady, and he could think of little else than his own miserable condition and his unhappy relations with the Lees.
He felt that Professor Lee had wronged him beyond forbearance, beyond endurance, beyond any hope of reconciliation.
As for Charley, his case was different. He was weak, boyish, impulsive, influenced by his father; but it might well be that time would heal the differences between him and Charley.
This was Parmenter’s daily, his hourly thought and hope; it was sweeter in his mind than had ever been his visions of oratorical success. For he had not been able, in all the stormy days that had passed, to drive from his heart the last spark of affection for the dearest friend his young manhood had known.
And now, when that friend’s disgrace and humiliation were deepest, the spark began to take on new life, to kindle, to glow, to send light and heat through his whole mental and moral system.
Perhaps this was due in part to his memory of that prostrate figure on the sofa in the hall. It was a picture that he could not forget,—the relaxed muscles, the pallid face, the disordered hair, the glassy, half-closed eyes, the wreck and ruin of young manhood stretched prostrate in his father’s hall.
It was pitiable, it was dreadful—the sight of death would have been less terrible.
Day and night this image was before Parmenter’s eyes. Go where he would he could not escape it. It followed him relentlessly. It hung about him as persistently and ceaselessly as his own shadow. It blotted out all thought of anger or revenge toward Charley Lee; it brought with it only patience, pity, a desire to help, and a great longing to be reconciled.