Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 10
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 10
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
"Water, water from the icy springs of Lapland!" cried the frantic earl;
"yet the frozen sea will not quench this burning fire! What availeth now
the wiles, the subtlety, the courage of Scotland's proudest earl? I
never was master or director of such pains as these. Death! how
successfully dost thou earn thy reputation of being the grim king!
Water, beloved Margaret, for this miniature hell!"
"It is here, good heart," cried Countess Margaret. "God bless its
efficacy!--drink."
"It is as nothing," cried Comyn, after swallowing the contents of the
cup. "It is as nothing--these tormina laugh at the puny quencher of
fires fiercer than those of Gehenna. I must submit. Thou wilt have no
terce from my earldom, wherein I am not yet feudally seised. Alas! shall
my innocent be left terceless--a beggar--the dependant of my brothers?
'Sdeath, this is worse than these scorching fires! Call the clerk of St
John's--quick."
The countess flow out of the room, and in a short time returned with the
clerical lawyer.
"Attend, sir," cried Comyn. "Thou seest one in the hands of death;
prepare, with the greatest speed of thy quill, a liferent disposition of
my whole earldom in favour of Countess Margaret, my wife. I shall then
confess to thee, and thou shalt pray for me."
"The liferent disposition I shall make out," replied the clerk of St
John's; "for Comyn's commands must be obeyed. But I, in behalf of the
holy brethren of our order, must tell thee, noble earl, that our prayers
can be of little avail if they are limited, in point of time, to the
period of thy sojourn on earth. Thy mausoleum must be lighted for ten
years with wax tapers, a thousand masses must be said for thy soul, and
a pilgrimage to the Holy Land must be performed, ere we can hope to
bring thee out of purgatory. If thou leavest the liferent of thy earldom
to Countess Margaret--the fee going to thy eldest brother as heir--what
is to pay the monks of St John for all their labours, in thus
endeavouring to free thee from the pains of that temporary place of
punishment?"
"No purgatory can equal these pains, man," cried the earl. "Thou shalt
have my earldom this instant for one hour's relief from this hell-fire."
"Why, good priest," said the lady, "canst thou thus talk of worldly
possessions to one in such agony? While I am thus ministering to the
body, it would better become thee to minister to the soul, while it is
still in its earthly tabernacle. I, his dear wife, asked for no
liferent, and yet thou requirest a mortification."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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