“I will have no man meddle with the hour of my death; no one shall either hurry or delay it.”
“The doctor might give you some ease from your sore pain.”
“I will bear His will to the uttermost. But come near to me, David; I have some last words to say, and there is One at my side hasting me forward.”
“Tell me your wish now, father. I will do all that you desire.”
“When you have put me in my grave, go to Shetland for me. I thought to do my own errand–to get there just in time to do it, and die; but it is hard counting with Death–he comes sooner than you expect. David, I have brought you up in the way of life. Think no wrong of me when I am gone away forever. Indeed, you’ll not dare to,” he said with a sudden flash of natural pride in himself; “for though I may have had a sore downfall, I could not get away from His love and favor.”
“None living shall say wrong of you in my hearing, father.”
“But, David, there are those of the unregenerate who would make much of my little slip. I might die, lad, and say nothing to any man about it. Put a few peats on the fire; death is cold, and my feet are in the grave already; so I may tell the truth now, for at this hour no man can make me afraid. And there is no sin, I hope, in letting Matilda Sabiston know, if she is still alive, that I owe Bele Trenby nothing for the wrong he did me. St. Paul left the Almighty to pay the ill-will he owed Alexander the coppersmith; but I could not ask that much favor, being only Liot Borson; and no doubt the Lord suffered me to pay my own debt–time and place being put so unexpected into my hand.”
Then he was awfully silent. The mortal agony was dealing its last sharp blows, and every instinct impelled him to cry out against the torment. But Liot Borson had put his mortality beneath his feet; nothing could have forced a cry from him. His face changed as a green leaf might change if a hot iron was passed over it; but he sat grasping the rude arms of his wooden chair, disdaining the torture while it lasted, and smiling triumphantly as it partly passed away.
“A few more such pangs and the fight will be over, David. So I will swither and scruple no longer; I will tell the whole truth about the drowning of Bele Trenby. Bele and I were never friends; but I hated him when he began to meddle between me and Karen Sabiston. He had no shadow of right to do so, for I had set my heart on her and she had given me her promise; and I said then, and I say it now with death at my elbow, that he had no right to step between me and Karen. Yet he tried to do that thing, and if it had not been for the minister I had stabbed him to his false heart. But the minister bade me do no wrong, because I was of the household of faith, and a born and baptized child of God, having come–mind this, David–of generations of his saints. He said if Bele had done me wrong, wrong would come to Bele, and I would live to see it.”
“‘Vengeance is Mine; I will repay’,” quoted David, in a low voice. But Liot answered sharply: