fowk yet,
'cause I loot him gang!--But he canna shot a hare wantin' thy wull,
O Jesus, the Saviour o' man an' beast; an' ill wad I like to hae a
han' i' the hangin' o' 'm. He may deserve 't, Lord, I dinna ken;
but I'm thinkin' ye made him no sae weel tempered--as my Robert, for
enstance."

Here her voice ceased, and she fell a moaning.

Her trouble was echoed in dim pain from Gibbie's soul. That the
prophetess who knew everything, the priestess who was at home in the
very treasure-house of the great king, should be thus abandoned to
dire perplexity, was a dreadful, a bewildering fact. But now first
he understood the real state of the affair in the purport of the old
man's absence; also how he was himself potently concerned in the
business: if the offence had been committed against Gibbie, then
with Gibbie lay the power, therefore the duty of forgiveness. But
verily Gibbie's merit and his grace were in inverse ratio. Few
things were easier to him than to love his enemies, and his merit in
obeying the commandment was small indeed. No enemy had as yet done
him, in his immediate person, the wrong he could even imagine it
hard to forgive. No sooner had Janet ceased than he was on his way
back to the cottage: on its floor lay one who had to be waited upon
with forgiveness.

Wearied with futile struggles, Angus found himself compelled to
abide his fate, and was lying quite still when Gibbie re-entered.
The boy thought he was asleep, but on the contrary he was watching
his every motion, full of dread. Gibbie went hopping upon one foot
to the hole in the wall where Janet kept the only knife she had. It
was not there. He glanced round, but could not see it. There was
no time to lose. Robert's returning steps might be heard any
moment, and poor Angus might be hanged--only for shooting Gibbie!
He hopped up to him and examined the knots that tied his hands:
they were drawn so tight--in great measure by his own struggles--and
so difficult to reach from their position, that he saw it would take
him a long time to undo them. Angus thought, with fresh horror, he
was examining them to make sure they would hold, and was so absorbed
in watching his movements that he even forgot to curse, which was
the only thing left him. Gibbie looked round again for a moment, as
if in doubt, then darted upon the tongs--there was no poker--and
thrust them into the fire, caught up the asthmatic old bellows, and
began to blow the peats