few but expressive signs of love.

Not until many weeks had passed did Mantel succeed in really engaging
his patient in anything like a conversation, and even after he had begun
to thaw a little under those tactful ministrations of love, whenever the
past was even hinted at the old recluse relapsed instantly into silence.

Mantel might have been discouraged had he not determined at all hazards
to enter into the secrets of this life, and to pave the way for the
forgiveness of his friend. He therefore persisted in his efforts, and
one bright day when the invalid was feeling unusually strong ventured to
press home his inquiries.

"I cannot help thinking," he said, "that you could soon be reasonably
well again if you did not brood so much. I fear there is some trouble
gnawing at your heart."

"There is," he was answered, icily.

"Have you wronged some one, then, and are these thoughts which vex you
feelings of remorse and guilt?"

"Wronged some one!" the sick man fairly roared, gripping the arms of his
chair and gasping for breath in the excitement which the question
brought on. "Not I! I have been wronged! No one has ever b-b-been
wronged as I have. I have nourished vipers in my b-b-bosom and been
stung by them. I have sown love and reaped hate. I have been robbed,
deceived and betrayed! My wife is gone! My health is gone! My sight is
gone! He has skinned me like a sheep, c-c-curse him! My heart has turned
to a hammer which knocks at my ribs and cries revenge! It ch-ch-chokes