Fiction > Book editions > London, 1886 - Kidnapped

THE   PLIGHT   IN   THE   HEATHER.                   247
for sharpness. I thought I must have swooned where
I stood.
This it was that gave me a thought. No apology
could blot out what I had said; it was needless to think
of one, none could cover the offence; but where an
apology was vain, a mere cry for help might bring Alan
back to my side. I put my pride away from me.
"Alan! " I said; "if you cannae help me, I must just
die here."
He started up sitting, and looked at me.
"It's true," said I. "I'm by with it. Oh, let me
get into the bield of a house�I'll can die there easier."
I had no need to pretend; whether I chose or not, I
spoke in a weeping voice that would have melted a heart
of stone.
"Can ye walk?" asked Alan.
"No," said I, "not without help. This last hour,
my legs have been fainting under me; I've a stitch in
my side like a red-hot iron; I cannae breathe right. If
I die, ye'll can forgive me, Alan? In my heart, I liked
ye fine�even when I was the angriest."
"Wheesht, wheesht!" cried Alan. "Dinnae say
that! David man, ye ken------" He shut his mouth
upon a sob. "Let me get my arm about ye," he
continued; "that's the way! Now lean upon me
hard. Gude kens where there's a house! We're in
Balwhidder, too; there should be no want of houses,
no, nor friends' houses here. Do ye gang easier so,
Davie?"