e. He
stepped out upon the road, but there was naebody there; he gaed a' ower
the gairden, but na, nae black man. At the hinder end, an' a bit feared,
as was but natural, he lifted the hasp an' into the manse; an' there was
Janet M'Clour before his een, wi' her thrawn craig, an' nane sae pleased
to see him. An' he aye minded sinsyne, when first he set his een upon
her, he had the same cauld and deidly grue.

"Janet," says he, "have you seen a black man?"

"A black man?" quo' she. "Save us a'! Ye're no wise, minister. There's
nae black man in a' Ba'weary."

But she didna speak plain, ye maun understand; but yam-yammered, like a
powney wi' the bit in its moo.

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

An' 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, an' thocht o' 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; an' that black man aye ran in his heid like the owercome o' a
sang. Aye the mair he thocht, the mair he thocht o' the black man. He
tried the prayer, an' the words wadna come to him; an' he tried, they
say, to write at his book, but he couldna 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; an' there was ither whiles when he cam' to
himsel' like a christened bairn an' 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 Janet 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