An indignity like this, which
can not be resented, is one which the young mind feels always most
anxious to resent. The very difficulties in the way of doing so,
stimulates the desire. Such was the feeling of William Hinkley.
With such a feeling it may be conjectured that opportunity was
not long wanting, or might soon be made, for giving utterance to
the suppressed fires of anger which were struggling in his heart.
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.
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