The Wolfe hesitated no longer.
“Now water, oh, water, in mercy!” cried he again, after he had swallowed the drug.
“Thy thirst must be moderately ministered unto for a time,” said the Franciscan; “yet shalt thou have one cup more,” and he poured one for him accordingly.
“Why art thou thus alone, father,” demanded the boy Duncan; “why is not my mother here? she who doth ever so caress and soothe thee, if that the pulses of thy temples do but throb unreasonably. I’ll go and fetch her hither straightway.”
“Fetch her not hither, Duncan, if thou wouldst not have me curse her,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, dashing away the half-consumed cup of water, in defiance of his thirst “Oh, that I might yet be myself again, were it but for a day, that I might deal justice upon her. Then, indeed, should I die contented.”
“Hush,” said the Franciscan; “such is not the temper that doth best befit a dying man; yea, and one, too, who hath so much for the which to ask forgiveness. It doth more behove thee to think of thine own sins than of those of others. If it may so please Heaven, I shall be the leech of thy body; but it were well that thou didst suffer me to give blessed medicine to thy diseased soul, for thy life or thy death hangeth in the Almighty hand, and no one can tell how soon thou mayest be called to thy great account. Say, dost thou repent thee of all the evil thou hast wrought against the Holy Church and her sacred ministers?”
“I do, I do; most bitterly do I repent me,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, grinding his teeth ferociously, and with an expression of countenance very different from that becoming an humble penitent. “I do repent me, I say, in gall and bitterness; for verily she for whom I did these deeds——” [[561]]
“Nay, talk not of her,” said the Franciscan, interrupting him; “mix not up thine angry passions with thine abasement before thine offended Maker. Repent thee of thy sins—make instant reparation to the Church from the abundance of thy wealth—resolve to put away all thine abominations from thee—and, finally, make a solemn vow, that, if it should please Heaven to restore thee to health, thou wilt do such penance as it may seem fitting for the injured Bishop of Moray to impose upon thee—do these things, and all may yet be well with thee. If thou art willing to vow solemnly to do these things, if Heaven in its mercy shall yet spare thee, verily I will receive and be witness to thy serment; and I do beseech thee to speak quickly, for I would fain leave thee to that healing repose, for the which my medicine hath prepared thee, that I may go to give healthful balsams to thy three sons, that they may yet be snatched from an early grave.”
“Yea, most merciful and beneficent monk,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, “thou whom I did believe to be a fiend, but whom I do now find to be saint upon earth, most gladly do I yield me to thee. I here most solemnly vow to the Virgin and the Holy Trinity, that I do heartily repent me of mine outrages against the Holy Church of God and His holy ministers; that I am ready to make what reparation I may; and that, if it so please Heaven to rescue me from the jaws of death, I shall do penance in such wise as to the Bishop and the King, my father, may seem best.”
“Be thy vow registered in Heaven,” said the Franciscan, solemnly crossing himself. “And now, with the blessing of St. Francis, thou shalt soon be in a state for fulfilling it. But let me entreat thee to yield thyself to that repose, the which the healing draught thou hast taken must speedily ensure to thee; when thou dost again awake, thy consuming fever will have left thee, and in two or three days at most thou mayest be again in thy saddle. Let me now hasten to help thy sons.”