“So much the worse for this priest, if he wants to prevent us from serving out our poisoner!”
“Death to him! death to him!”
With this burst of ferocious yells, which were fearfully re-echoed from the groined arches of the cathedral, the mob, maddened by rage, rushed towards the choir, at the door of which Gabriel was standing. The young missionary, who, when placed on the cross by the savages of the Rocky Mountains, yet entreated heaven to spare his executioners, had too much courage in his heart, too much charity in his soul, not to risk his life a thousand times over to save Father d’Aigrigny’s—the very man who had betrayed hire by such cowardly and cruel hypocrisy.
CHAPTER XXV. THE MURDERERS.
The quarryman, followed by his gang, ran towards Gabriel, who had advanced a few paces from the choir-railing, and exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with rage: “Where is the poisoner? We will have him!”
“Who has told you, my brethren, that he is a poisoner?” replied Gabriel, with his deep, sonorous voice. “A poisoner! Where are the proofs—witnesses or victims?”
“Enough of that stuff! we are not here for confession,” brutally answered the quarryman, advancing towards him in a threatening manner. “Give up the man to us; he shall be forthcoming, unless you choose to stand in his shoes?”
“Yes, yes!” exclaimed several voices; “they are ‘in’ with one another! One or the other we will have!”
“Very well, then; since it is so,” said Gabriel, raising his head, and advancing with calmness, resignation; and fearlessness; “he or me,” added he;—“it seems to make no difference to you—you are determined to have blood—take mine, and I will pardon you, my friends; for a fatal delusion has unsettled your reason.”