‘He was drunk and poisoned him.’
‘Ah! who gave him drink? Who made him a drunkard two years ago? Who has wrecked his life?’
There was no answer, and the even-toned voice went relentlessly on—
‘Who is the murderer of your child now?’
Slavin groaned and shuddered.
‘Go!’ and the voice grew stern. ‘Repent of your sin and add not another.’
Slavin turned his eyes upon the motionless figure on the ground and then upon the priest. Father Goulet took one step towards him, and, stretching out his hand and pointing with his finger, said—
‘Go!’
And Slavin slowly backed away and went into his house. It was an extraordinary scene, and it is often with me now: the dark figure on the ground, the slight erect form of the priest with outstretched arm and finger, and Slavin backing away, fear and fury struggling in his face.
It was a near thing for the doctor, however, and two minutes more of that grip would have done for him. As it was, we had the greatest difficulty in reviving him.