'Happy! Son of a mother tortured to death by a Christian people; brother
of the girl driven to suicide by hate; brother of the man whom society
set in hell.' Ryder's voice was low and musical, and his words were more
dreadful than curses. 'You have not told me all,' he continued. 'Sit
down, man--tell me of your life at home there.'
Jim demurred, but Ryder led him on to the narrative, and eventually he
described his past, and as he talked of the old troubles and
tribulations, his former prejudices awoke, and something of the early
hatred and disdain. Ryder, quick to detect the effect of the revival of
his boyish grievances, kept the young man's thoughts on the more painful
features of the story, and worked upon his feelings guilefully probing
his soul, finding his weaknesses with an unerring touch, prompted, no
doubt, by his knowledge of Richard Done, the man he had been, whose
youthful character he found faithfully reflected here.
'You'll come with me?' said Ryder.
'No, I couldn't do it,' answered Jim. 'Your idea of vengeance strikes me
only as the dream of a madman.'
'But you'll think it over?'
'You don't suppose a man can get this sort of thing out of his mind in a
day.'
'Remember, I bind you to nothing, and there is a big fortune at stake.'