it in its moo.

'Weel,' says he, 'Janet, if there was nae black man, I have spoken with
the Accuser of the Brethren.'

And he sat down like ane wi' a fever, an' his teeth chittered in his
heid.

'Hoots,' says she, 'think shame to yoursel', minister;' an' gied him a
drap brandy that she keept aye by her.

Syne Mr. Soulis gaed into his study amang a' his books. It's a lang,
laigh, mirk chalmer, perishin' cauld in winter, an' no very dry even in
the tap o' the simmer, for the manse stands near the burn. Sae doun he
sat, and thocht of a' that had come an' gane since he was in Ba'weary,
an' his hame, an' the days when he was a bairn an' ran daffin' on the
braes; and that black man aye ran in his heid like the ower-come of a
sang. Aye the mair he thocht, the mair he thocht o' the black man. He
tried the prayer, an' the words wouldnae come to him; an' he tried, they
say, to write at his book, but he could nae mak' nae mair o' that. There
was whiles he thocht the black man was at his oxter, an' the swat stood
upon him cauld as well-water; and there was other whiles, when he cam to
himsel' like a christened bairn and minded naething.

The upshot was that he gaed to the window an' stood glowrin' at Dule
water. The trees are unco thick, an' the water lies deep an' black under
the manse; an' there was Janct washin' the cla'es wi' her coats kilted.
She had her back to the minister, an' he, for his pairt, hardly kenned
what he was lookin' at. Syne she turned round, an' shawed her face; Mr.
Soulis had the same cauld grue as twice that day afore, an' it was borne
in upon him what folk said, that Janet was deid lang syne, an' this was a
bogle in her clay-cauld flesh. He drew back a pickle and he scanned her
narrowly. She was tramp-trampin' in the cla'es, croonin' to hersel'; and
eh! Gude guide us, but it was a fearsome face. Whiles she sang louder,
but there was nae man born o' woman that could tell the words o' her
sang; an' whiles she lookit side-lang doun, but there was naething there
for her to look at. There gaed a scunner through the flesh upon his
banes; and that was Heeven's advertisement. But Mr. Soulis just blamed
himsel', he said, to think sae ill of a puir, auld afflicted wife that
hadnae a freend forbye himsel'; an' he put up a bit prayer for him and
her, an' drank a little caller water--for his heart rose again the
meat--an' gaed up to his naked bed in the gloaming.

That was a nicht that has never been