Part 28 (1/2)

He looked hard at the paper, as if needing a few moments to formulate further translation.

”Do go on,” said Eliza, with manifest impatience.

”Why now, you're _real_ interested, Miss White.”

”Anybody would want to know what you're at.”

”Well, but, considering it's any one so composed as you, Miss White, it's real pleasant to see you so keen.”

”I'm keen for my work. I haven't time, like you, to stand here all day.”

All this time he had been looking at the paper. ”What I've read so far, you see, is what I've told you before as having happened to my knowledge at a place called Turrifs Station.”

”Is that all?”

”No,” and he went on translating. ”'Whether this man was dead or not, he is now alive, but partially deaf and blind; and whether he has ever seen anything of the next world or not, he has now no interest in this one, but spends his whole time praying or preaching, living on crusts, and walking great distances in solitary places. He has lately appeared in the suburbs of this city' (that is Quebec) 'and seems to be a street-preacher of no ordinary power.'”

Harkness stopped with an air of importance.

”Is that all?” asked Eliza.

He gave her another paper, in English, to read. This contained a longer and more sensational account of the same tale, and with this difference, that instead of giving the simple and sentimental view of the French writer, the English journalist jeered greatly, and also stated that the nickname Lazarus had been given in derision, and that the man, who was either mad or an imposter, had been hooted, pelted, and even beaten in the streets.

”Is that all?” she asked.

”Unless you can tell me any more.” He did not say this lightly.

”Is that all?” she asked again, as if his words had been unmeaning.

”Well now, I think that's enough. 'Tisn't every day this poor earth of ours is favoured by hearing sermons from one as has been t'other side of dying. I think it would be more worth while to hear him than to go to church, I do.”

”Do you mean to say,” she asked, with some asperity, ”that you really believe it?”

”I tell you I saw the first part of it myself, and unless you can give me a good reason for not believing the second, I'm inclined to swallow it down whole, Miss Cameron--I beg your pardon, White, I mean. One gets real confused in names, occasionally.”

”Well,” said Eliza, composedly, preparing to leave him, ”I can't say I understand it, Mr. Harkness, but I must say it sounds too hard for me to believe.”

He looked after her with intense curiosity in his eyes, and in the next few days returned to the subject in her presence again and again, repeating to her all the comments that were made on the story in the bar-room, but he could not rouse her from an appearance of cheerful unconcern.

Another item appeared in the papers; the old man called Cameron had been brought before the magistrates at Quebec for some street disturbance of which he appeared to have been the innocent cause.

Upon this Cyril Harkness took a whim into his head, which he made known to all his friends in the place, and then to Eliza--a most extraordinary whim, for it was nothing less than to go down to Quebec, and take the street preacher under his own protection.

”I feel as if I had a sort of responsibility,” said he, ”for I was at the very beginning of this whole affair, and saw the house where he had lived, and I got real well acquainted with his partner, who no doubt had ill-treated him. I saw the place where a daughter of his perished too, and now he's got so near up here as this, I can't bear to think of that old man being ill-treated and having no one to look after him. I'm going right down to Quebec by the Sat.u.r.day-night train, an' I'll be back Monday morning if I can persuade the old gentleman to come right here where I can look after him. I reckon there's room in the Harmon house for both him and me, an' I reckon, if he's got anything particularly powerful to say in the way of religion, it won't do this little town any harm to hear it.”

He had said all this to Eliza.

”Don't!” she cried in great surprise, but with determined opposition. ”I shall never think you have any sense again if you do such a foolish and wicked thing.”

”Why now, Miss White, as to losing your good opinion, I didn't know as I'd been fortunate enough to get it yet; and as to its being wicked, I don't see how you make _that_ out.”