Before it reached them, however, Jackman’s strong hand seized the keeper’s arm. A gasp from the roused giant, and the deadly pallor of his countenance, as he glanced round, showed that superstition had suddenly seized on his troubled soul; but no sooner did he see who it was that had checked him, than the hot blood rebounded to his face, and a fierce glare shot from his eyes.
“Thank God!—not too late!” exclaimed Jackman, fervently.
The thanksgiving was addressed to God, of course without reference to its influence on Ivor; but no words, apparently, could have been used with better effect upon the keeper’s spirit. His eyes lost their ferocity, and he stood irresolute.
“Break it, like a good fellow,” said Jackman, in a soft, kindly voice, as he pointed to the bottle.
“I broke one before, sir,” said Ivor, in a despairing tone; “and you see how useless that was.”
“Give it to me, then.”
As he spoke, he took the bottle from the man’s grasp, and cast it through the open doorway, where it was shivered to atoms on the stones outside.
Striding towards a pitcher of water which stood in a corner of the room, the keeper seized it, put it to his lips, and almost drained it.
“There!” he exclaimed; “that will drown the devil for a time!”
“No, Ivor, it won’t; but it will help to drown it,” said Jackman, in the same kindly, almost cheerful, voice. “Neither cold water nor hottest fire can slay the evils that are around and within us. There is only one Saviour from sin—Jesus, ‘who died for the sins of the whole world.’ He makes use of means, however, and these means help towards the great end. But it was not the Saviour who told you to lock that bottle in that cupboard—was it?”