THREE FATAL DROPS

Hokitika Guardian, 10 January 1930, Page 3

THREE FATAL DROPS

DYING BOY POISONED

NOVELIST’S GRIAI SECRET

A remarkable manuscript of deep human interest—ilit* disclosure of a dramatic incident in the life of a famous novelist, came into tlie possession oi tlie London “Daily Express recently, said that journal in its issue of November 15.

It is from tlie pen of Aliss Dora CTinsJc-Murray, daughter of the late Air David Christie-AI array, and it was accompanied by the statement that the writer had been inspired to place the faces oil record after reading the account of the trial of Rieliaid Corbett on a charge of murdering lii.s mother, whom he killed, he said, because she suffered from an incurable disease. Miss Chri.stie-Afur-ray’s story is as follows:

When my father was a young man, travelling in the Belgian Ardenens, he came across a ‘cottage tucked -away from civilisation, inhabited by an old couple and their son. The parents were of typical peasant class—lieavv and loutish, their hacks bowed with work, neither expecting nor hoping for anything beyond their lives of

daily toil. But the 16-year-old son, a bright flame-like spirit, was a changeling to tlieir dull eyes. Without any book-learning lie wa« a genius. Untutored, lie bad the knowledge with which all artists are horn, and above all he had the great, sorrowful gift of music. But all his beauty of soul was imprisoned in a sickly body that found work, of even the lightest kind, impossible. The irritated by his helplessness and frightened by his alien wavs, found him a burden, a useless clog on tlieir own dull, .stupid lives, and the boy in turn was bewildered by bis parents’ lack of understanding and sympathy. AN INCURABLE DISEASE.

Aly father, naturally attracted by boy, approached the parents with a view to adopting him, and was mot with open-armed enthusiasm. To cut a long story short, he finally took the l)oy away, resolved that his artistry should find its own level. The boy—let us call him Henri—lived for a few months in heaven, but the sickness of his early life turned to an incurable disease, and, in suite, of all the loving eare my father gave him, ho became feebler and feebler, and at last bedridden. All his days and nights, and finally all his minutes, were one protracted that not even the most powerful drugs could assuage. The time came when it was only a question -of days before the end—and •jgpch days! Such aeons of pain, such helpless, shrieking agony, that up father could hardly hear to stand h.v the boUirlc. Finally one day he turned to the doctor, almost frantic with his inability to do anything, and said • “For God’s sake, man, do something! T cannot hear to see this going on any longer.”

The doctor looked at him strangely for a. moment, then picked up a small bottle which he handed to him. “When I am gone . monsieur,” he said. “and the pain Imeomes vmacute, you may give Henri three dr<!ps of tin’s medicine—just three drops, remember: more would be fatal.” ’’THREE! DROPB ONLY.”

Aly father said:—“You mean- 9 ” “Three drops only: more would he fatal.” repeated the doctor.

“Thank von.” said my father, and the doctor left the room.

As he turned to whore the hoy n< - Ivine, exhausted after his last P’ro"ysm of pain, Henri opened his eyes and said faintly: “I can’t hear it. sir. Help me!”

My father, gentle as a woman, went down on his knees and lifted the hoy’s hood in his arms. ‘‘My hoy,” he said, “you have only a few more, days to live, and thev will he full of pain and agony. 1 have something here that might help to relieve tho pain a little, and it I give it to you, you will go to sleep and never wake up again. Will yon take it?”

“I’ll take anything from your hands,” said the hoy. So, with hands that never faltered, my father poured out the overdose and held it to the hoy’s lips, and the hov drank it trustfully, then settled down with a smile of unutterable peace, and just whispered, “God bless you, sir.” And so fell asledp, and sleeping, died.