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At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind, sat up in his sark on the bedside, and fell thinkin’ ance mair o’ the black man an’ Janet. He couldnae weel tell how,–maybe it was the cauld to his feet,–but it cam’ in upon him wi’ a spate that there was some connection between thir twa, an’ that either or baith o’ them were bogles. And just at that moment, in Janet’s room, which was neist to his, there cam’ a stamp o’ feet as if men were wars’lin’, an’ then a loud bang; an’ then a wund gaed reishling round the fower quarters of the house; an’ then a’ was ance mair as seelent as the grave.

Mr. Soulis was feard for neither man nor deevil. He got his tinder-box, an’ lit a can’le, an’ made three steps o’ ‘t ower to Janet’s door. It was on the hasp, an’ he pushed it open, an’ keeked bauldly in. It was a big room, as big as the minister’s ain, an’ plenished wi’ grand, auld, solid gear, for he had naething else. There was a fower-posted bed wi’ auld tapestry; and a braw cabinet of aik, that was fu’ o’ the minister’s divinity books, an’ put there to be out o’ the gate; an’ a wheen duds o’ Janet’s lying here and there about the floor. But nae Janet could Mr. Soulis see, nor ony sign of a contention. In he gaed (an’ there’s few that wad hae followed him), an’ lookit a’ round, an’ listened. But there was naethin’ to be heard neither inside the manse nor in a’ Ba’weary parish, an’ naethin’ to be seen but the muckle shadows turnin’ round the can’le. An’ then a’ at aince the minister’s heart played dunt an’ stood stock-still, an’ a cauld wund blew amang the hairs o’ his heid. Whaten a weary sicht was that for the puir man’s een! For there was Janet hangin’ frae a nail beside the auld aik cabinet; her heid aye lay on her shouther, her een were steeked, the tongue projecket frae her mouth, and her heels were twa feet clear abune the floor.

“God forgive us all!” thocht Mr. Soulis, “poor Janet’s dead.”

He cam’ a step nearer to the corp; an’ then his heart fair whammled in his inside. For–by what cantrip it wad ill beseem a man to judge–she was hingin’ frae a single nail an’ by a single wursted thread for darnin’ hose.

It’s an awfu’ thing to be your lane at nicht wi’ siccan prodigies o’ darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in the Lord. He turned an’ gaed his ways oot o’ that room, and locket the door ahint him; and step by step doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; and set doon the can’le on the table at the stair-foot. He couldnae pray, he couldnae think, he was dreepin’ wi’ caul’ swat, an’ naething could he hear but the dunt-dunt-duntin’ o’ his ain heart. He micht maybe have stood there an hour, or maybe twa, he minded sae little; when a’ o’ a sudden he heard a laigh, uncanny steer upstairs; a foot gaed to an’ fro in the cham’er whair the corp was hingin’; syne the door was opened, though he minded weel that he had lockit it; an’ syne there was a step upon the landin’, an’ it seemed to him as if the corp was lookin’ ower the tail and doun upon him whaur he stood.

He took up the can’le again (for he couldnae want the licht), and, as saftly as ever he could, gaed straucht out o’ the manse an’ to the far end o’ the causeway. It was aye pit-mirk; the flame o’ the can’le, when he set it on the grund, brunt steedy and clear as in a room; naething moved, but the Dule Water seepin’ and sabbin’ doon the glen, an’ yon unhaly footstep that cam’ plodding’ doun the stairs inside the manse. He kenned the foot ower-weel, for it was Janet’s; and at ilka step that cam’ a wee thing nearer, the cauld got deeper in his vitals. He commended his soul to Him that made an’ keepit him; “and, O Lord,” said he, “give me strength this night to war against the powers of evil.”