CHAPTER XXXII
THE TABLES TURNED
“Revenge, at first though sweet,
Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.”
Earle suddenly reeled at these astounding words, as if some one had struck him a heavy blow.
“Mr. Dalton! Sir!” he cried, aghast, and regarding him for the moment in helpless amazement.
“Papa!” Editha exclaimed, an expression of utter incredulity upon her face.
She really thought that her father was deranged. She believed that he had cherished his bitterness toward Earle until he had become a monomaniac upon that point, and now, under the excitement of the moment, and their defiance of him, he had lost his reason entirely.
“Does all this surprise you, my children?” Mr. Dalton asked, with a gloating grin at Earle. “It is not to be wondered at,” he went on; “but it is true, nevertheless. Earle Wayne, as he calls himself, though he has no more right to the name than I have, is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.”
Earle was terribly moved by his speech. His breath came labored and heavily, his teeth were locked together, and his hands were clenched until they were fairly livid.
He took one fierce stride forward, as if he could have felled the man to the floor, then suddenly stopped, and asked, in low, concentrated tones: