The one so strong and manly, and in full vigor of life; the other pale, emaciated, and dying, and neither experiencing nor expressing any natural regard for the other.
Earle’s humanity was touched as soon as he saw the sufferer. He forgot all his past bitterness, he forgot that this was one who claimed to be an implacable foe, who had said he “hated him and all that ever belonged to him.” He only thought of him now as a sick and dying man who needed sympathy and care.
“You did not expect when you went away that when next we met you would find your enemy laid so low, did you?” Mr. Dalton asked, in a hollow voice, when Earle was seated, and searching his face with a keen glance.
“I have never wished you any ill, sir,” he replied, respectfully.
“I cannot say the same regarding you, for there was nothing I would not have done, for the sake of the hatred I bore your mother, to have hurled you from the proud position you occupy.”
“Shall we not drop all this now and forever?” Earle interrupted, gently, fearing he would become excited if this topic was renewed.
“No; I must have my say out now. I’ve been saving my strength for this, and I have much to tell you, and the sooner it is over with, the better for me. One’s sentiments change when a body feels life slipping from his grasp, and I felt that I would like you to know before I die that I realize at last, instead of injuring others only, I have been my own worst enemy. I don’t know why I should always have hated others for what has really been my own fault; for all through my life my folly has been the cause of all my disappointments.
“I have seen a child get angry with his toys—his top or his ball, when it would not spin or bound as he wished it—and vent his anger by destroying them, when it was only his own lack of judgment and skill that prevented his enjoying them. I suppose it was that same trait in me, only in tenfold degree, that has made me wish to destroy every one who opposed or disappointed me in my schemes or ambition.”
He paused a moment, and Earle watched him curiously. He had never heard anything so strange before.
“Had I lived for ten, twenty, or even forty years more, I suppose I should have gone on in the same way,” Mr. Dalton resumed. “I suppose as long as I knew you were enjoying the position and possessions I had so coveted, I should have continued to hate you, and striven to do you injury. But my hatred can do you no further harm now, nor me any good where I am going; neither money nor position, the two things that I have most coveted all my life, can benefit me further. I have never believed in a God, have tried to believe that man was like the brutes, and consequently must get all the enjoyments possible out of this life; but now that I have come to this”—lifting his wasted hand and regarding it with a strange expression of wonder, and perplexity, and regret—“I do not feel quite so confident that God and eternity are not solemn truths. That the mind is something greater than the body, and will probably exist in another state, I am at last convinced; but I have no time to discuss metaphysics now. My life has been a failure, for I have missed everything for which I sought most eagerly. I have never known what it is to be really happy. I have done a great deal of evil, and I do not know a single human being that is better for my having lived in the world. The only good thing that I can think of connected with myself is, that no one will sorrow or be made unhappy by my death;” and the smile that accompanied these words was intensely bitter.