“Perhaps it were well to allow you a few moments, wretch that you are, to confess your sins and repent, before you are sent into the other world,” said the Pensassenach. “So make haste—lose not the fleeting space of time which I thus mercifully grant to you, and lighten your soul of as much load as you can.”
“Oh, hae mercy—hae mercy on me!” cried Dallas.
“I’ll have no mercy on you, more than this,” cried the Pensassenach, in a terrible voice. “If you will not confess yourself, your last moment is at hand;” and so saying, she ducked Mr. Dallas’s head under the water.
“O! O! O! Oh!—hech! ech!” cried Mr. Dallas, panting for breath; “I’m a dead man! I’m a dead man! Oh, Lord forgie me for sellin’ pastes for precious stanes.”
“Come! is that all?” cried the Pensassenach, shaking him again.
“Hae mercy on me for sellin’ rock crystal for diamunts,” cried Dallas.
“Come! out with it all!” said the Pensassenach.
“Oh! Och! Forgie me for sellin’ bits o’ ayster shells for pearls,” cried Dallas again, “and pinchbeck for gold; and watches wi’ worn out auld warks for new anes.”
“Come! nothing else to confess?” said the Pensassenach.
“Oh, yes. Heaven help me, and hae mercy on me, for keepin’ fause weights and a fause ell-wand,” cried Dallas.