Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 02
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 02
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
In my professional capacity I had not been accustomed to any mysterious
or secret practice of our art, which, being exercised ostensibly and in
reality for the benefit of mankind, requires no cloak to cover its
operations; and, though I was curious to know the secret of such
incomprehensible proceedings, I felt no admiration of, or relish
for adventures so unsuited to the life and manners of a sober,
practical man. One thing, however, was clear, and seemed sufficient
to reconcile my practical, every-day notions of life with this mysterious
negotiation, and even to solve the doubt I entertained whether I should
again trust myself as a party to the devices of secrecy--and that was,
that the individual I had been thus called to see professionally was in
such a condition of body as required urgently the administrations of a
medical practitioner. On the following day, I resolved upon making some
inquiries, with a view to ascertain who and what the individual was that
occupied the house to which I had been introduced, and which, upon a
survey in daylight, I could have no difficulty in tracing; but I
happened to be too much occupied to be able to put my purpose into
execution; and was thus obliged to remain, during the day, in a state
of suspense and ignorance of the secret involved in my previous night's
professional adventure. In the evening, however, and about the same hour
at which the messenger called for me on the previous occasion, the
same individual waited on me, with an apology for the apparently
unceremonious treatment I had received, and which, she said, would be
explained to my satisfaction; and a renewed request that I would again
accompany her to the same house, and on the same errand. I told the
messenger that I bore no great love to these secret adventures, but that
I would consent, on this occasion, to make a sacrifice of my principles
and feelings to the hope of being able to be of some use, in a
professional way, to the distressed lady I had seen on the previous
occasion, whose situation, so far as I could judge from appearances, was
not far removed from the extremity of danger. I again, accordingly,
committed myself to the guidance of the young woman; and, after a
repetition of the windings and evolutions of the previous visit, soon
found myself again seated in the chair that stood by the gorgeous bed of
the strange invalid. Everything seemed to be in the same situation as
before: the lamp gave out its weak light, the perfumes exhaled their
sweets, and the distressed lady exhibited the same strange contrast
between her reduced sickly condition and the superb finery of her
dishabille.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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