Everything in the world seemed small. How calm it was even with the fury
within!
"Tell me," she said quietly--"tell me how you are able to save Haman?"
"He not kill Wakely. It is my brudder Fadette dat kill and get away.
Haman he is drunk, and everyt'ing seem to say Haman he did it, an'
everyone know Haman is not friend to Wakely. So the juree say he must be
hanging. But my brudder he go to die with hawful bad cold queeck, an' he
send for the priest an' for me, an' tell all. I go to Governor with the
priest, an' Governor gif me dat writing here." He tapped his breast,
then took out a wallet and showed the paper to her. "It is life of dat
Haman, voici! And so I safe him for my brudder. Dat was a bad boy,
Fadette. He was bad all time since he was a baby, an' I t'ink him pretty
lucky to die on his bed, an' get absolve, and go to purgatore. If he not
have luck like dat he go to hell, an' stay there."
He sighed, and put the wallet back in his breast carefully, his eyes
half-shut with weariness, his handsome face drawn and thin, his limbs lax
with fatigue.
"If I get Askatoon before de time for dat, I be happy in my heart, for
dat brudder off mine he get out of purgatore bime-bye, I t'ink."
His eyes were almost shut, but he drew himself together with a great
effort, and added desperately, "No sleep.
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