Days and weeks may elapse, but the antipathy will declare itself
at last. It would be easier to lock up the mountain torrent after
the breath of the tornado has torn away its rocky seals, than to
stifle in the heart that hates, because of its love, the fierce
fury which these united passions enkindle within it.

In the first hour of their first interview, William Hinkley and
Alfred Stevens felt that they were mutual foes. In that little space
of time, the former had but one thought, which, though it changed
its aspect with each progressive moment, never for an instant changed
its character. He panted with the hope of redressing himself for
wrongs which he could not name; for injuries and indignities which
he knew not how to describe. Stevens had neither done nor said
anything which might be construed into an offence. And yet, nobody
knew better than Stevens that he had been offensive. The worthy
John Cross, in the simplicity of his nature, never dreamed of this,
but, on the contrary, when our adventurer dilated in the fatherly
manner already adverted to, be looked upon himself as particularly
favored of Heaven, in falling upon a youth, as a pupil, of such
unctuous moral delivery.

"Surely," he mused internally, "this is a becoming instrument which
I have found, for the prosecution of the good work. He will bear
the word like one sent forth to conquer. He will bind and loose
with a strong hand. He will work wondrous things!"

Not unlike these were the calculations of old Hinkley, as he
hearkened to the reverend reasonings and the solemn commonplaces
of the stranger. Stevens, like most recent converts, was the most
uncompromising enemy of those sins from which he professed to have