The dog reciprocated these attentions with a devotion and a gratitude which were human in their intensity and depth.  It was as beautiful as it was pathetic, to see these two friends bestowing upon each other their 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 me!”

He gasped, grew purple in the face and clutched at his collar as if about to strangle.  After a little the paroxysm passed away, and Mantel determined once more to try and assuage this implacable hatred.

To his own unbounded astonishment this young man who had long ago abandoned his faith in Christianity, began to plead like an apostle for the practice of its central and fundamental virtue.

“My friend,” he said, with a new solemnity in his manner, “you are on the threshold of another world; how dare you present yourself to the Judge of all the earth with a passion like this in your heart?”

In the momentary rest the beggar had recovered strength enough to reply:  “It is t-t-true.  I am on the threshold of another world!  I didn’t use to b-b-believe there was one, but I do now.  There must be!  Would it b-b-be right for such d-d-devils as the one that wrecked my life to g-g-go unpunished?  Not if I know anything!  They get away from us here, but if eternity is as long as they s-s-say it is, I’ll find D-D-Dave Corson if it t-t-takes the whole of it, and when I f-f-find him—­” he paused again, gasping and strangling.

Mantel’s pity was deeply stirred, and he would gladly have spared him had he dared; but he did not, and permitting him to regain his breath, he said: