Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 05
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 05
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
"Thomas Kerr, your sincerity and contrition has delivered you from my
power this once. Beware of a relapse. Go, do the duty of a son to your
worthy parent. You have been a worse man than ever I was on earth. I
have my parent's blessing with me in the midst of my sufferings; and
there is a soothing in it which the wretched can alone feel."
Quick as thought he was lifted from the coach and seated upon the
ground. With the speed of a whirlwind, as it appeared to him, the
carriage disappeared, and the sound died away. For some time he sat
bewildered, as if he had fallen from the clouds. Gradually he began to
breathe more freely, and felt as if a fearful night-mare had just passed
away. Slowly the events of the night rose in regular succession. The
forlorn and desolate widow; the hideous spectres in the coach, that,
without heads, spake and moved with such energy--the whole now passed
before him so vividly that he shuddered. At first he hoped all had been
a fearful dream; but the cold, damp ground on which he sat banished the
fond idea. He felt, in all its force, that he was now wide awake, as he
groped with his hands and touched the damp grass beneath him. All around
was enveloped in impenetrable darkness. Not one star shone in the murky
sky. How much of the night had passed, or where he at present was, he
had no means of ascertaining. The first use he made of his restored
faculties was to rise upon his knees, and pour out his soul to God,
imploring pardon and protection in this hour of suffering. He rose with
a heart much lightened, and felt his energies restored. Stumbling
onwards, he proceeded, he knew not whither, until, bruised by falls and
faint from exhaustion, he again seated himself upon a stone, to wait
patiently the approach of dawn. Thus, melancholy and pensive, he sat,
eager to catch the faintest sound; but all was silent as the grave, save
the faint rustling of the long grass, waving around him in the night
breeze, that was chilling his vitals, as it, in fitful gusts, swept past
him. The hope of surviving the night had almost forsaken him, when the
distant tramp of a horse fell on his longing ears. Then the cheerful
sound of a popular air, whistled to cheer the darkness, gladdened his
heart. In an ecstasy of pleasure, he sprung to his feet. The rolling of
wheels over the rugged road, was soon added to the cheering sounds. With
caution he approached them over hedge and ditch, until, dark as it was,
he could discern the object of his search almost before him--a carrier's
cart, with the driver seated upon the top, whistling and cracking his
whip to the time.
"Stop friend, for mercy's sake, and take me up beside you."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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