All
through the evening of Sunday, the 24th, I listened, rather enviously,
to Hardcastle's noisy mirth; his voice never ceased to rattle--now
bantering a fellow-prisoner with good-natured aggravation--now shouting
out a verse of some popular song--now declaiming a sentence or so of
exaggerated mock-oratory--yet he did not give me the idea of being
uproarious with drink (I heard afterwards he was perfectly sober),
rather, he seemed possessed by an exhilaration involuntary and
irrational, like a person who has inhaled laughing-gas. It was not till
next day that the Highland word "Fey" came into my mind. I am scarcely
inclined now, wholly to deride that old superstition. Is it possible
that the foreshadow of doom does, in some mysterious way, affect certain
nervous systems, when the soul, within a few hours, must pass out free
through the rugged doors of violent death?
About eleven o'clock on the following morning I heard a rifle-shot, but
took, little heed of it, as I knew that accidental discharges from
careless handling of firelocks were not uncommon. Shortly afterwards,
the officer of the keys asked me to visit the Superintendent in his
room. It was natural that such a summons should conjure up certain faint
hopes of approaching liberation; or, at least, of the "hearing" so long
deferred.
Pages:
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214