A FATHER’S THREAT
“Ah! Mr. _Wayne_!” with a peculiar emphasis upon his name that somehow
startled Earle. “Quite an interesting occasion. Pray, Miss Dalton, are
you in the _habit_ of entertaining your callers in this
extremely—ah—_amazing_ manner?” he demanded, with a cold sneer.
Editha’s fair face flushed with mingled shame and indignation at his
coarseness, while Earle’s eyes flashed dangerously at his almost
insulting manner to his betrothed.
“Papa, Mr. Wayne sails for Europe to-morrow,” Editha said, to divert his
attention, and hoping thus to tide over a scene until Earle should be
out of the way.
“Ah, indeed? I am happy to hear it—extremely happy to hear it,” with a
satirical bow to Earle, yet with a start of surprise and a searching
glance into the young man’s face; “and I presume he was taking a
_friendly_ leave of you, my dear; quite interesting—quite affecting—ah!
quite.”
It is impossible to describe the malice and satire contained in his
words, or the evil expression on Mr. Dalton’s face, as his eyes
restlessly searched first one countenance and then the other of the
lovers before him.
“_No, sir!_” Earle replied, rising, and pale to ghastliness with the
effort he made at self-control at this insulting language and manner. “I
was not taking _leave_ of Miss Dalton, and, since I do not approve of
concealments or secret engagements, I will state that she has just
consented to do me the honor to become my wife at some future time.”
The young man stood proudly erect, confronting his enemy, and still
holding one of Editha’s hands, as he made this bold statement.
“Do _you_ dare stand there and tell _me_ this?” Mr. Dalton hissed, with
strange malignity.
“And why should I not dare, sir?” Earle asked, with forced respect,
remembering that he was speaking to Editha’s father.
Sumner Dalton did not reply, but, turning fiercely upon Editha,
demanded, in a voice of concentrated passion:
“Is what he says truth?”
“Yes, papa,” she replied, firmly, but with downcast eyes and painfully
flushed cheeks.
“You have promised to _marry him_?” pointing with a shaking finger at
Earle, and speaking in the same tone as before.
“Yes, sir.”
“You have dared to do this thing without either my knowledge or
sanction? _You_ marry a thing like _him_!”
The blue eyes were downcast no longer, but flashed up to meet his, with
a clear and steady glance.
“Sir!” she began, and her tones, though respectful, were firm and
unfaltering, “I was twenty-one years of age some time ago, and I can
now, so to speak, act upon my own authority, if I choose. I am, at all
events, old enough to know my own mind, and I believe I told you once
before that I consider I have a right to judge and act for myself in a
matter so vital to my own happiness and interests.”
She paused a moment, and her look of independence changed to one of
pain, as she added, more gently:
“I would much to prefer to have your consent and approbation in all that
I do, but——”
“You will have my curses and hate instead,” he interrupted, nearly
purple with passion that she should face him so dauntlessly.
“Please do not say that, papa,” Editha cried, in deep distress.
“Mr. Dalton,” Earle now said gravely, yet feeling as if he could hardly
keep his hands off the man for wounding her so, “may I ask _what_ your
objections are to my union with Miss Dalton?”
“It seems exceedingly strange to me that you should _need_ to ask any
_respectable_ and honorable citizen what his objections would naturally
be to _your_ marrying his daughter,” was the intensely sarcastic reply.
Earle flushed, but still controlled himself.
“I understand you, sir,” he said, proudly “but I can assure you that I
am guiltless of the deed which you would impute to me. I have even now a
clew to the real culprits——”
“You have?” Mr. Dalton interrupted, with a startled look.
“Yes, sir, and though I have suffered a felon’s disgrace; yet let them
once be brought to justice, and my name will be cleared from every
breath of taint.”
“_Your name will be cleared from every breath of taint!_” Mr. Dalton
repeated, with an emphasis and look that made Earle start violently and
regard him with perplexity.
Then he answered, with firm assurance:
“Yes, sir; I think I can safely promise that in six months from this
time I shall be able to convince you that I am as honorable and
respectable a man as you yourself claim to be, and shall be able to
offer Miss Dalton a position in life that even you will be proud to
accept for her.”
Mr. Dalton now started as if stung at these last words, and his face
would have been a study for a painter.
He had grown very pale while Earle was speaking, and his countenance
wore a half-frightened, perplexed expression, while his eyes were fixed
upon the young man as if fascinated.
“How can you do this thing? What do you mean?” he at last demanded, in a
wondering tone.
“Pardon me if I say I cannot explain just now,” he answered, with a
slight smile, and a quick, fond glance at Editha, as if _she_ would be
the first one to be told of any good that came to him; “but, providing
that I can thus convince you of my honesty and respectability, will you
then consent to my union with Editha?”
“_No!_” burst from the irate man, who seemed to recover himself at this
question.
Earle looked surprised, and as if utterly unable to comprehend the man’s
strange demeanor, and his peculiar animosity toward him.
“Have you any _other_ objection to my making Miss Dalton my wife?” he
asked, in his straightforward way.
“Yes, sir, _I have_.”
“May I ask what it is?”
“You may ask, but it does not follow that I shall tell you. Suffice it
to say that you shall _never_ marry Editha Dalton.”
Earle Wayne smiled calmly.
“Pardon me, but that is a question which Editha alone can decide,” he
replied, respectfully but confidently.
“Aha! do you think so?” sneered Mr. Dalton. Then turning to Editha, with
a malicious smile, he demanded: “And what is _your_ opinion about the
matter, miss?”
“I wish we could be at peace, papa. Oh, why cannot you be reasonable,
and let me be happy?” she exclaimed, with gathering tears and a bitter
pain at the rupture she foresaw.
“Speak! What do you think of your lover’s statement?” reiterated Mr.
Dalton, harshly.
“If I must speak—then—I must,” she began, with quiet dignity, “although
I dislike to cause you either anger or sorrow. I think this is a matter
which _I_ alone can decide, and—_I have decided_.”
“_How_ have you decided?” thundered Mr. Dalton, striding toward her.
“I have decided that if we both do live, I shall be Earle Wayne’s wife,”
she said, with a quiet firmness that left no room for doubt.
A proud, glad light leaped into Earle’s face at these brave words,
though he would cheerfully have shielded her at almost any cost from
this angry scene with her father.
“Aha! you have, have you?” he returned, in tones that made her shrink
from him and move nearer Earle, as if for protection from some impending
ill, though she knew not what.
Mr. Dalton marked the gesture, and it enraged him still more.
“I suppose you think you love this fine young gentleman very much,” he
said, with a strange smile upon his lips.
“Yes, sir, I do,” she answered, unflinchingly.
“And you, sir?” turning fiercely upon Earle.
He would not have deigned to reply to the trivial question had he not
deemed it best for Editha’s sake to temporize with him.
“I have loved Miss Dalton since the day Mr. Forrester introduced me to
her, more than six years ago,” he answered, quietly.
“I can crush you both with a breath—you shall _never_ marry each other,”
Sumner Dalton whispered, hoarsely.
Earle thought this but an idle threat, uttered in the heat of passion,
and paid no particular heed to it; but he longed to put an end to the
disgraceful scene.
“Mr. Dalton,” he said, speaking very calmly, “why will you not listen to
reason? Do you not see that there is nothing to be gained by so much
passionate opposition? Editha and I are both of age, capable to act for
ourselves, and we both also believe that there can be no impediment to
our union except, perhaps, the fancied one of a social unfitness; and
for that we do not propose to sacrifice the happiness of our lives. I do
not desire to be at enmity with you, and I cannot understand why you
should be so violent in your dislike of me, since I am not conscious of
ever having done you any injury. I do not mean to be unreasonable in my
resistance of your will and authority, but your own good sense will tell
you that no man would lightly yield the woman he loved as his own life;
and, while I believe that every child should obey the divine injunction
to ‘honor one’s parents,’ yet there _is_ a limit beyond which this will
not apply. Now, if you have any good and sufficient reason for what you
assert, I desire to hear it.”
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.
“Let an enemy fall into your hands and see; let some one do you a deadly
injury—let him crush your hopes, and every prospect for the fulfillment
of your ambitious desires, and bar you forever from the one prize you
covet most on earth, and then see if you will preach about love to your
enemies,” Mr. Dalton said, with a fierceness that was absolutely
startling, and Earle wondered more and more what possible connection all
this could have with his hatred of him.
He was not conscious of having crushed any of his hopes, nor of
hindering the fulfillment of any ambitious desires, nor of barring him
from any coveted prize, although he thought Mr. Dalton was guilty of all
this in regard to himself.
“Are _you_ not doing that very thing now? Are you not seeking to wrest
from me the dearest object which earth holds for me?” he asked, gently,
and really pitying one who was so at the mercy of his fierce passions.
“Yes; and aren’t you longing to grapple me with those powerful hands of
yours and crush me for it?” he laughed in return.
“Honestly, no, Mr. Dalton,” Earle exclaimed, with solemn earnestness; “I
would not avail myself of the slightest advantage to do you an injury.
You suffer more from the exercise of your own vindictiveness than I ever
can from its effects.”
“And yet you are determined to marry _her_,” with a gesture toward
Editha, who now sat with bowed head weeping, “in spite of all my
threats?”
“Not ‘in spite of your threats,’ Mr. Dalton, for they do not move me in
the least; but because our love and our happiness are both too sacred to
be sacrificed to the malice of any one,” Earle replied, with dignity.
“You will not heed me—you are determined to marry Editha?” he demanded,
scowling darkly.
“If Miss Dalton consents to be my wife, I shall most certainly make her
so.”
“And you will not be warned?”
“What possible cause, sir, can you have for this fierce opposition and
resentment? _Will_ you tell me?” Earle demanded, nearly wearied out with
this controversy.
“_No_; that is my secret—I shall not tell it to you. _I shall keep it to
crush you both with; and crush you it will, if you attempt to thwart
me_,” he answered, sternly.
Earle bent his head in deep thought for a moment, then, seeking Mr.
Dalton’s eye with a searching look, he said:
“Mr. Dalton, tell me one thing; it is not possible—you do not think that
it is Editha’s money I am seeking?”
“It would not be so strange a thing if you were; Editha has a pretty
penny of her own; but let me tell you not a dollar of it will you get
more than you have already got,” he snapped, savagely, and with a scowl
at his daughter, as he thus referred to her defiance of him regarding
Richard Forrester’s legacy to Earle.
“I have never touched that money, sir, nor do I ever intend to do so;
and it seems to me as if that fact alone should convince you that I am
no fortune-hunter,” the young man said, flushing with disgust that such
a motive should be imputed to him.
“That is a very pretty theory, and doubtless wins that silly girl’s
warmest admiration, as being so disinterested and noble in you; when, if
you should be so fortunate as to succeed in your designs to marry her,
you would have the handling of the whole,” was the sarcastic rejoinder.
“Sir, if you were any other than Editha’s father you would be made to
repent of and apologize for those words.”
Earle’s eyes emitted glances of fire, and his clenched hands and heaving
chest showed how hard it was for him to refrain from bestowing the
chastisement the evil-minded man so richly merited.
A sardonic grin for a moment distorted Mr. Dalton’s features at these
words; but, turning to Editha, who at that last insult to her lover had
risen and now stood at his side, white and quivering with pain and
indignation, he said, in low, concentrated tones:
“Remember, if you dare to defy me in this matter as you did in the
other, my secret and my hate shall crush you both.”
Then, without another word, he turned and left the room.