But the impression of Nixon's words upon Slavin was as nothing compared with that made by Geordie Crawford. It was not what he said so much as the manner of awful solemnity he carried. Geordie was struggling conscientiously to keep his promise to 'not be 'ard on the boys,' and found considerable relief in remembering that he had agreed 'to leave them tae the Almichty.' But the manner of leaving them was so solemnly awful, that I could not wonder that Slavin's superstitious Irish nature supplied him with supernatural terrors. It was the second day after the funeral that Geordie and I were walking towards Slavin's. There was a great shout of laughter as we drew near.
Geordie stopped short, and saying, 'We'll juist gang in a meenute,'
passed through the crowd and up to the bar.
'Michael Slavin,' began Geordie, and the men stared in dead, silence, with their glasses in their hands. 'Michael Slavin, a'
promised the lad a'd bear ye nae ill wull, but juist leave ye tae the Almichty; an' I want tae tell ye that a'm keepin' ma wur-r-d.
But'--and here he raised his hand, and his voice became preternaturally solemn--'his bluid is upon yer han's. Do ye no'
see it?'
His voice rose sharply, and as he pointed, Slavin instinctively glanced at his hands, and Geordie added--'Ay, and the Lord will require it o' you and yer hoose.'
They told me that Slavin shivered as if taken with ague after Geordie went out, and though he laughed and swore, he did not stop drinking till he sank into a drunken stupor and had to be carried to bed. His little French-Canadian wife could not understand the change that had come over her husband.
'He's like one bear,' she confided to Mrs. Mavor, to whom she was showing her baby of a year old. 'He's not kees me one tam dis day.
He's mos hawful bad, he's not even look at de baby.' And this seemed sufficient proof that something was seriously wrong; for she went on to say--'He's tink more for dat leel baby dan for de whole worl'; he's tink more for dat baby dan for me,' but she shrugged her pretty little shoulders in deprecation of her speech.
'You must pray for him,' said Mrs. Mavor, 'and all will come right.'
'Ah! madame!' she replied earnestly, 'every day, every day, I pray la sainte Vierge et tous les saints for him.'
'You must pray to your Father in heaven for him.'
'Ah! oui! I weel pray,' and Mrs. Mavor sent her away bright with smiles, and with new hope and courage in her heart.
She had very soon need of all her courage, for at the week's end her baby fell dangerously ill. Slavin's anxiety and fear were not relieved much by the reports the men brought him from time to time of Geordie's ominous forebodings; for Geordie had no doubt but that the Avenger of Blood was hot upon Slavin's trail; and as the sickness grew, he became confirmed in this conviction. While he could not be said to find satisfaction in Slavin's impending affliction, he could hardly hide his complacency in the promptness of Providence in vindicating his theory of retribution.
But Geordie's complacency was somewhat rudely shocked by Mr.
Craig's answer to his theory one day.
'You read your Bible to little profit, it seems to me, Geordie: or, perhaps, you have never read the Master's teaching about the Tower of Siloam. Better read that and take that warning to yourself.'
Geordie gazed after Mr. Craig as he turned away, and muttered--'The toor o' Siloam, is it? Ay, a' ken fine aboot the toor o'
Siloam, and aboot the toor o' Babel as weel; an' a've read, too, about the blaspheemious Herod, an' sic like. Man, but he's a hot-heided laddie, and lacks discreemeenation.'
'What about Herod, Geordie?' I asked.
'Aboot Herod?'--with a strong tinge of contempt in his tone.
'Aboot Herod? Man, hae ye no' read in the Screepturs aboot Herod an' the wur-r-ms in the wame o' him?'
'Oh yes, I see,' I hastened to answer.
'Ay, a fule can see what's flapped in his face,' with which bit of proverbial philosophy he suddenly left me. But Geordie thenceforth contented himself, in Mr. Craig's presence at least, with ominous head-shakings, equally aggravating, and impossible to answer.
That same night, however, Geordie showed that with all his theories he had a man's true heart, for he came in haste to Mrs. Mavor to say:
'Ye'll be needed ower yonder, a'm thinkin'.'
'Why? Is the baby worse? Have you been in?'
'Na, na,' replied Geordie cautiously, 'a'll no gang where a'm no wanted. But yon puir thing, ye can hear ootside weepin' and moanin'.'
'She'll maybe need ye tae,' he went on dubiously to me. 'Ye're a kind o' doctor, a' hear,' not committing himself to any opinion as to my professional value. But Slavin would have none of me, having got the doctor sober enough to prescribe.
The interest of the camp in Slavin was greatly increased by the illness of his baby, which was to him as the apple of his eye.
There were a few who, impressed by Geordie's profound convictions upon the matter, were inclined to favour the retribution theory, and connect the baby's illness with the vengeance of the Almighty.
Among these few was Slavin himself, and goaded by his remorseful terrors he sought relief in drink. But this brought him only deeper and fiercer gloom; so that between her suffering child and her savagely despairing husband, the poor mother was desperate with terror and grief.
'Ah! madame,' she sobbed to Mrs. Mavor, 'my heart is broke for him.
He's heet noting for tree days, but jis dreenk, dreenk, dreenk.'
The next day a man came for me in haste. The baby was dying and the doctor was drunk. I found the little one in a convulsion lying across Mrs. Mavor's knees, the mother kneeling beside it, wringing her hands in a dumb agony, and Slavin standing near, silent and suffering. I glanced at the bottle of medicine upon the table and asked Mrs. Mavor the dose, and found the baby had been poisoned.
My look of horror told Slavin something was wrong, and striding to me he caught my arm and asked--'What is it? Is the medicine wrong?'
I tried to put him off, but his grip tightened till his fingers seemed to reach the bone.
