Mr. Dalton’s eyes had been fixed upon him while he was speaking in that same strange gaze that he had noticed once before, and now, as then, he had grown deadly pale.
“I have a good and sufficient reason, and I would see her on the rack before I would allow you to marry her,” he said, bending towards him and speaking with a vindictiveness that sent a cold chill creeping over Earle’s flesh.
“Oh, papa, what can you mean?” exclaimed Editha, with a shudder.
“I cannot understand this fierce hatred which you seem to entertain for me,” began Earle, regarding him thoughtfully.
“You have hit the nail on the head at last. I hate you—I hate you—and I have cause to hate you,” Sumner Dalton answered, shaking like a leaf in the wind, as he uttered the fearful words.
“I repeat, I cannot understand it,” Earle said, wonderingly.
“I suppose, practically speaking, you do not even know the meaning of the word,” sneered Mr. Dalton.
“I hope I do not, sir. We are commanded not to hate, but rather to love our enemies, and to do good to those who injure us.”
“I suppose you put that in practice, since you preach it?”
“I desire to practice it most certainly,” was the grave response.