"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.
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