“And so my enemy is dead!” said Mrs. Hunter. “I can scarcely believe it.”
“He was not your enemy, mother. He was everybody’s friend. If you had known him you must have known that.”
“How I hated him!” said Mrs. Hunter.
“Yes, and it was most absurd of you, mother, for he never injured you in the least thing.”
“Oh, yes, indeed, he did! He had my money. What will become of it now? If he had been a just man he would have bequeathed it to me.”
John was fast losing patience. This idea which had possessed his mother was nothing less than a craze.
“The money was not yours, and never could have been,” he said. “Do be reasonable! How can you talk of justice, when you are so unjust in your judgment of him? Oh, little mother, how much happier you would be if you would only be kind! Do cast out the evil spirit of jealousy which has poisoned so many years of your life, and see things as they are. There will come a day when you, too, will need mercy——”
“As Henry Harris does now.”
“Yes; and as we shall soon. Be yourself merciful therefore now. He has gone home to God. He is the Judge, and He only knew all about Mr. Harris.”
“Is there a God? He did not believe in one.”