His wife hearing his curses, and understanding the cause, broke out into
wailing hard to bear.
'Ah! mon petit ange! It is dat wheeskey dat's keel mon baby. Ah! mon
cheri, mon amour. Ah! mon Dieu! Ah, Michael, how often I say that
wheeskey he's not good ting.'
It was more than Slavin could bear, and with awful curses he passed
out. Mrs. Mavor laid the baby in its crib, for the convulsion had
passed away; and putting her arms about the wailing little Frenchwoman,
comforted and soothed her as a mother might her child.
'And you must help your husband,' I heard her say. 'He will need you
more than ever. Think of him.'
'Ah oui! I weel,' was the quick reply, and from that moment there was no
more wailing.
It seemed no more than a minute till Slavin came in again, sober, quiet,
and steady; the passion was all gone from his face, and only the grief
remained.
As we stood leaning over the sleeping child the little thing opened its
eyes, saw its father, and smiled. It was too much for him. The big man
dropped on his knees with a dry sob.
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