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.
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