General Davenant shuddered with wrath still, but a strange emotion was mingled with the sentiment now--an emotion which I could not fathom. Before he could open his lips, however, Darke resumed, in the same tone:-- “You hesitate--you are not ready to become my executioner. Well, listen, and I will utter that which may deprive you of all self-control. Yes, once more, I killed a man, and killed him for money; but _you_ made me what I was! You petted, and spoiled, and made me selfish. In addition, you hated--that man. You had hated him for twenty years. When I grew up, I found out that. If you did not strike him, you had the desire to do so--and, like a good son, I shared my ‘father’s loves and hatreds.’ I heard you speak of--him--harshly; I knew that an old grudge was between you; what matter if I met this enemy of the family on the high-road, and, with the dagger at his throat, said: ‘Yield me a portion of your ill-gotten gains!’ for that money was the proceeds of a forced sale for cash, by which the father of a family was turned out of house and home! Well, I did that--and did it under the effect of drink. I learned the habit at _your_ table; wine was placed in my hands, in my very childhood, by you; you indulged all my vile selfishness; made me a miserable, arrogant wretch; I came to hang about the village tavern, and gamble, and fuddle myself, until I was made worthless! Then, when one day the devil tempted me, I committed a crime--and that crime was committed by _you_! for _you_ cultivated in me the vile habits which led me on to murder!” Darke’s eyes were gloomy, and full of a strange fire. As he uttered the last words, he spurred close to his father, tore open his uniform until his bare breast was visible, and added in accents full of vehement and sullen passion:-- “Strike me! Bury your sword’s point in my heart! I am your son. You are as noble a gentleman as Brutus was! Kill me, then! I am a murderer: but I am a Davenant, and no coward!” From the fierce and swollen face, in which the dark eyes burned like firebrands, my glance passed to the countenance of General Davenant. A startling change had taken place in the expression of the old cavalier. He was no longer erect, fiery, defiant. His glance no longer darted scorn and anger. His chin had fallen upon his breast; his frame drooped; his cheeks, but now so flushed, were covered with a deep pallor. For a moment he remained silent. The hand which had clutched at the sword hilt hung listless at his side. All at once his breast heaved, and with a sound which resembled a groan, he said, in low tones:-- “I am punished! Yes, my hatred has brought forth fruit, and the fruit is bitter! It was I who warped this life, and the tree has grown as I inclined it.” “Yes,” said Darke, in his deep voice, “first warped--then, when cut down, cast off and forgotten!” General Davenant looked at the speaker with bitter melancholy.