uspicious.
Everyone who opposed him was his enemy: all who combined for his
preservation were conspirators. His father, whose feelings he had
outraged and never attempted to soothe, was a tyrant; his brother, who
was devoted to his interests, was a traitor.

These were his living and his dying thoughts. While he existed, he was
one of those men who, because they have been imprudent, think themselves
unfortunate, and mistake their diseased mind for an implacable destiny.
When he died, his deathbed was consoled by the reflection that his
persecutors might at last feel some compunction; and he quitted the
world without a pang, because he flattered himself that his departure
would cost them one.

His father, who died before him, had left him no fortune, and even had
not provided for his wife or child. His brother made another ineffectual
attempt to accomplish a reconciliation; but his proffers of love and
fortune were alike scorned and himself insulted, and Arundel Dacre
seemed to gloat on the idea that he was an outcast and a beggar.

Yet even this strange being had his warm feelings. He adored his wife,
particularly because his father had disowned her. He had a friend whom
he idolised, and who, treating his occasional conduct as a species
of insanity, had never deserted him. This friend had been his college
companion, and, in the odd chapter of circumstances, had become a
powerful political character. Dacre was a man of talent, and his friend
took care that he should have an opportunity of displaying it. He was
brought into Parliament, and animated by the desire, as he thought, of
triumphing over his family, he exerted himself with success. But his
infernal temper spoiled all. His active quarrels and his noisy brawls
were even more endurable than his sullen suspicions, his dark hints, and
his silent hate. He was always offended and always offending. Such a
man could never succeed as a politician, a character who, of all others,
must learn to endure, to forget, and to forgive. He was soon universally
shunned; but his first friend was faithful, though bitterly tried, and
Dacre retired from public life on a pension.

His wife had died, and during the latter years of his life almost his
only companion was his son. He concentrated on this being all that
ardent affection which, had he diffused among his fellow-creatures,
might have ensured his happiness and his prosperity. Yet even sometimes
he would look in his child's fac