PAGE 5
The Man That Died At Alma
by
An hour later the Avocat, the Cure, and the two women stood in the chief room of the little house on the hillside. The door was shut between the two rooms, and the Little Chemist was with Kilquhanity. The Cure’s hand was on the arm of the first wife and the Avocat’s upon the arm of the second. The two women were glaring eye to eye, having just finished as fine a torrent of abuse of each other and of Kilquhanity as can be imagined. Kilquhanity himself, with the sorrow of death upon him, though he knew it not, had listened to the brawl, his chickens come home to roost at last. The first Mrs. Kilquhanity had sworn, with an oath that took no account of the Cure’s presence, that not a stick nor a stone nor a rag nor a penny should that Irish slattern have of Matthew Kilquhanity’s!
The Cure and the Avocat had quieted them at last, and the Cure spoke sternly now to both women.
“In the presence of death,” said he, “have done with your sinful clatter. Stop quarrelling over a dying man. Let him go in peace–let him go in peace! If I hear one word more,” he added sternly, “I will turn you both out of the house into the night. I will have the man die in peace.”
Opening the door of the bedroom, the Cure went in and shut the door, bolting it quietly behind him. The Little Chemist sat by the bedside, and Kilquhanity lay as still as a babe upon the bed. His eyes were half closed, for the Little Chemist had given him an opiate to quiet the terrible pain.
The Cure saw that the end was near. He touched Kilquhanity’s arm: “My son,” said he, “look up. You have sinned; you must confess your sins, and repent.”
Kilquhanity looked up at him with dazed but half smiling eyes. “Are they gone? Are the women gone?” The Cure nodded his head. Kilquhanity’s eyes closed and opened again. “They’re gone, thin! Oh, the foine of it, the foine of it!” he whispered. “So quiet, so aisy, so quiet! Faith, I’ll just be shlaping! I’ll be shlaping now.”
His eyes closed, but the Cure touched his arm again. “My son,” said he, “look up. Do you thoroughly and earnestly repent you of your sins?”
His eyes opened again. “Yis, father, oh yis! There’s been a dale o’ noise–there’s been a dale o’ noise in the wurruld, father,” said he. “Oh, so quiet, so quiet now! I do be shlaping.”
A smile came upon his face. “Oh, the foine of it! I do be shlaping-shlaping.”
And he fell into a noiseless Sleep.