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. “How would it be if you could find those real thieves, for whom you pretend you have suffered disgrace?” was the searching query. Earle’s face was very noble and earnest as he returned, thoughtfully: “Beyond proving my own innocence, and justifying myself in the yes of the world, I believe I can honestly say I wish them no ill.” “And you would revenge yourself by making them serve a _double sentence_, if you could?” demanded Mr. Dalton, skeptically. “It might be necessary for the good of the public that they should be put where they could do no more injury; but it would afford me no personal gratification, I can assure you,” Earle answered, with a sigh, feeling that it would be but sad pleasure to be the cause of another’s serving out a term of weary years in State prison, as he had done. Then, with a pitying glance at his enemy, he said, even more gently than he had yet spoken: “Mr. Dalton, did you never read what Milton says of that ignoble sentiment of which you speak? ‘Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.’” Mr. Dalton laughed, mockingly. “You should have continued your very apt quotation, for, if I remember rightly, a few lines below read like this: ‘I reck not, so it light well aimed— · · · · · Spite then with spite is best repaid.’ I must confess that your creed is beyond both my comprehension and inclination; and, mark my words, you yourself will yet prove it fallacious by practical illustration.” “I trust not, sir; the world would be a sad place in which to live if such passion ran riot in the hearts of all men,” Earle said, sadly.