At
we were struggling there a light hand touched my shoulder. It was Father
Goulet.
'Please let him go, and stand away from us,' he said, waving us back.
We obeyed. He leaned over Slavin and spoke a few words to him. Slavin
started as if struck a heavy blow, looked up at the priest with fear in
his face, but still keeping his grip.
'Let him go,' said the priest. Slavin hesitated. 'Let him go! quick!'
said the priest again, and Slavin with a snarl let go his hold and stood
sullenly facing the priest.
Father Goulet regarded him steadily for some seconds and then asked--
'What would you do?' His voice was gentle enough, even sweet, but there
was something in it that chilled my marrow. 'What would you do?' he
repeated.
'He murdered my child,' growled Slavin.
'Ah! how?'
'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.
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