The cold fog had come down
in the night, and the man had stripped himself, and sat all night with
death staring him in the face, to save my life. And all the reason he
gave was, that if one of us must die, it was better the older should
go first, and not a youngster like me. And," said Tom, lowering his
voice, "that man was a murderer!"
"A murderer!"
"Yes; a drunken, gambling, cut-throat rowdy as ever grew ripe for the
gallows. Now, will you tell me that there was nothing in that man but
what the devil put there?"
Frank sat meditating awhile on this strange story, which is moreover a
true one; and then looked up with something like tears in his eyes.
"And he did not die?"
"Not he! I saw him die afterwards--shot through the heart, without
time even to cry out. But I have not forgotten what he did for me that
night; and I'll tell you what, sir! I do not believe that God has
forgotten it either."
Frank was silent for a few moments, and then Tom changed the subject.
"I want to know what you can tell me about this Mr. Vavasour."
"Hardly anything, I am sorry to say. I was at his house at tea, two or
three times, when I first came; and I had very agreeable evenings, and
talks on art and poetry: but I believe I offended him by hinting that
he ought to come to church, which he never does, and since then our
acquaintance has all but ceased. I suppose you will say, as usual,
that I played my cards badly there also.
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