He passed his palm over his forehead and eyes, and for a moment was silent. Then he struck the palm on his knee and broke forth afresh.
"Murder, by the law of England, even if no more than accident in God's truth. How much the more then this here, when the one man as won't stand and see it done goes down in his berth? O, I've known that afore, too, with a gimlet through the door-frame; an' I know Beecher. But orders is orders, an' it's them as gives them as is to reckon with. I've took orders myself.... Lord! Lord! an' I've none but a child to talk to! A little child!... But you're no fool, Stevy. See here now, an' remember. You know what's come to your father? He's killed, wilful; murdered, like what they hang people for, at Newgate, Stevy, by the law. An' do you know who's done it?"
I was distressed and bewildered, as well as alarmed by the old man's vehemence. "The captain," I said, whimpering again.
"Viney!" my grandfather shouted. "Henry Viney, as I might ha' served the same way, an' I wish I had! Viney and Marr's done it; an' Marr's paid for it already. Lord, Lord!" he went on, with his face down in his hands and his elbows on his knees. "Lord! I see a lot of it now! It was what they made out o' the insurance that was to save the firm; an' when my boy put in an' stopped it all the voyage out, an' more, they could hold on no longer, but plotted to get out with what they could lay hold of. Lord! it's plain as print, plain as print! Stevy!" He lowered his hands and looked up. "Stevy! that money's more yours now than ever. If I ever had a doubt—if it don't belong to the orphan they've made—but there, it's sent you, boy, sent you, an' any one 'ud believe in Providence after that."
In a moment more he was back at his earlier excitement. "But it's Viney's done it," he said, with his fist extended before him. "Remember, Stevy, when you grow up, it's Viney's done it, an' it's Murder, by the law of England. Viney has killed your father, an' if it was brought against him it 'ud be Murder!"
"Then," I said, "we'll go to the police station and they will catch him."
My grandfather's hand dropped. "Ah, Stevy, Stevy," he groaned, "you don't know, you don't know. It ain't enough for that, an' if it was—if it was, I can't; I can't—not with you to look after. I might do it, an' risk all, if it wasn't for that.... My God, it's a judgment on me—a cruel judgment! My own son—an' just the same way—just the same way!... I can't, Stevy, not with you to take care of. Stevy, I must keep myself safe for your sake, an' I can't raise a hand to punish Viney. I can't, Stevy, I can't; for I'm a guilty man myself, by the law of England—an' Viney knows it! Viney knows it! Though it wasn't wilful, as God's my judge!"
Grandfather Nat ended with a groan, and sat still, with his head bowed in his hands. Again I remembered, and now with something of awe, my innocent question: "Did you ever kill a man, Grandfather Nat?"
Still he sat motionless and silent, till I could endure it no longer: for in some way I felt frightened. So I went timidly and put my arm about his neck. I fancied, though I was not sure, that I could feel a tremble from his shoulders; but he was silent still. Nevertheless I was oddly comforted by the contact, and presently, like a dog anxious for notice, ventured to stroke the grey hair.
Soon then he dropped his hands and spoke. "I shouldn't ha' said it, Stevy; but I'm all shook an' worried, an' I talked wild. It was no need to say it, but there ain't a soul alive to speak to else, an' somehow I talk as it might be half to myself. But you know what about things I say—private things—don't you? Remember?" He sat erect again, and raised a forefinger warningly, even sternly. "Remember, Stevy!... But come—there's things to do. Give me the letter. We'll get together any little things to be kep', papers an' what not, an' take 'em home. An' I'll have to think about the rest, what's best to be done; sell 'em, or what. But I dunno, I dunno!"