? Grand triumphs those, eh?"
"Ay," said Sandy, "I mind them unco weel--they cost me a' my few savings,
mair by token; an' mony a braw fallow paid for ither folks' sins that tide.
But my puir laddie here's no made o' that stuff. He's ower thin-skinned for
a patriot."
"Ah, well--this little taste of British justice will thicken his hide for
him, eh?" And the attorney chuckled and winked. "He'll come out again as
tough as a bull dog, and as surly too. Eh, Mr. Mackaye?--eh?"
"'Deed, then, I'm unco sair afeard that your opeenion is no a'thegither
that improbable," answered Sandy with a drawl of unusual solemnity.
CHAPTER XXX.
PRISON THOUGHTS.
I was alone in my cell.
Three years' imprisonment! Thirty-six months!--one thousand and ninety-five
days--and twenty-four whole hours in each of them! Well--I should sleep
half the time: one-third at least. Perhaps I should not be able to sleep!
To lie awake, and think--there! the thought was horrible--it was all
horrible. To have three whole years cut out of my life, instead of having
before me, as I had always as yet had, a mysterious Eldorado of new schemes
and hopes, possible developments, possible triumphs, possible bliss--to
have nothing, nothing before me but blank and stagnation, dead loss and
waste: and then to go out again, and start once more where I had left off
yesterday!
It should not be! I would not lose these years! I would show myself a man;
they should feel my strength just when they fancied they had crushed me
utterly! They might bury me, but I should rise again!--I should rise again
more glorious, perhaps to be henceforth immortal, and live upon the lips
of men.
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