Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 21
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 21
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
"Well, away, get access to your wife, ferret everything out of her, as
well for her as against her. If she bought poison, where she bought it,
what rats were to be poisoned, how it was applied, how she communicated
with the girl, and where, and all, and everything you can gather.
Question your servants all they saw or heard; your son, what he has to
say; ascertain who came about the house, how affected towards the girl,
whether there were more lovers than your son, whether the girl was
melancholy, or hopeful, and likely to do the thing or not; but, above
all, keep it ever in view that your wife is in prison, and suspected,
and let me know every item you can bring against her. Away, and lose no
time, for I see it's a matter of neck and neck between her and the
prosecutor, and, consequently, neck and noose, or neck and no noose,
between her and the hangman."
Utterly confounded by this array of instructions, the poor farmer sat
and looked blank. It was impossible he could remember all he had been
requested to do; and the duty of finding out facts to criminate the wife
who had lived with him so long in love and confidence, bore down upon
him with a weight he could hardly sustain.
"I will do what I can," he said.
"You must do _more_ than you can," said the writer; "but, again I say,
let me know every, the smallest item you can discover against your
wife."
And, thus charged, Mr. S----mounted his horse, and rode home to a
miserable house with a miserable heart.
Extraordinary as the case was, it was entrusted to the charge of an
extraordinary man, well remembered yet throughout that county, and much
beyond it. In personal respects he was strong, broad, and muscular, with
a florid countenance never out of humour, and an eye that flashed in so
many different directions, that it was impossible to arrest it for two
moments at a time. All action, nothing resisted him; all impulse and
sensibility, nothing escaped his observation; yet no one could say that
any subject retained his mind for more time than would have sufficed
another merely to glance at it. He could speak to a hundred men in a day
upon a hundred topics, and sit down and run off twenty pages of a paper
without an hour of previous meditation; break off at a pronoun, at a
call to the further end of the town; drink as much in a few minutes'
conversation with a client as would have taken another an hour to enjoy,
and return and finish his paper in less time than another would take to
think of it. Always, to appearance, off his guard, he was always master
of his position, nor could any obstacle make him stand and calculate
its dimensions--it must be surmounted or broken, if his head or the laws
should be broken with it; always pressing, he never seemed to be
impressed, and the gain or loss of a case was equally indifferent to
him. His passion was action, his desire money; but the money went as it
came--made without effort and spent without reason. Yet no man hated
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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