The sun gaed doun amang unco-lookin' clouds; it fell as mirk as the pit; no a star, no a breath o' wund; ye couldnae see your han' afore your face, and even the auld folk cuist the covers frae their beds and lay pechin' for their breath. Wi' a' that he had upon his mind, it was gey and unlikely Mr. Soulis wad get muckle sleep. He lay an' he tummled; the gude, caller bed that he got into brunt his very banes; w hiles he slept, and whiles he waukened; whiles he heard the time o' n icht, and whiles a tike yowlin' up the muir, as if somebody was deid; w hiles he thocht he heard bogles claverin' in his lug, an' whiles he saw spunkies in the room. He behooved, he judged, to be sick; an' sick he was--little he jaloosed the sickness.
At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind, sat up in his sark on the bedside, and fell thinkin' ance mair o' the black man an'Janet. He couldnae weel tell how,--maybe it was the cauld to his feet, --but it cam' in upon him wi' a spate that there was some connection between thir twa, an' that either or baith o' them were bogles. And just at that moment, in Janet's room, which was neist to his, there cam' a stamp o' feet as if men were wars'lin', an' then a loud bang; a n' then a wund gaed reishling round the fower quarters of the house; a n' then a' was ance mair as seelent as the grave.
Mr. Soulis was feard for neither man nor deevil. He got his tinder- b ox, 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' g rand, auld, solid gear, for he had naething else. There was a fower- p osted 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; a n' 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.
"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' d arkness; 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- d untin' 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' i t seemed to him as if the corp was lookin' ower the tail and doun upon him whaur he stood.
He took up the can'le again (for he couldnae want the licht), and, as saftly as ever he could, gaed straucht out o' the manse an' to the far end o' the causeway. It was aye pit-mirk; the flame o' the can'le, when he set it on the grund, brunt steedy and clear as in a room; n aething moved, but the Dule Water seepin' and sabbin' doon the glen, an' yon unhaly footstep that cam' plodding' doun the stairs inside the manse. He kenned the foot ower-weel, for it was Janet's; and at ilka step that cam' a wee thing nearer, the cauld got deeper in his vitals.
He commended his soul to Him that made an' keepit him; "and, O Lord," s aid he, "give me strength this night to war against the powers of evil."
By this time the foot was comin' through the passage for the door; he could hear a hand skirt alang the wa', as if the fearsome thing was feelin' for its way. The saughs tossed an' maned thegether, a long sigh cam' ower the hills, the flame o' the can'le was blawn aboot; an' t here stood the corp of Thrawn Janet, wi' her grogram goun an' her black mutch, wi' the heid aye upon the shouther, an' the girn still upon the face o' 't,--leevin', ye wad hae said--deid, as Mr. Soulis weel kenned,--upon the threshold o' the manse.
It's a strange thing that the saul of man should be thirled into his perishable body; but the minister saw that, an' his heart didnae break.
She didnae stand there lang; she began to move again, an' cam' slowly toward Mr. Soulis whaur he stood under the saughs. A' the life o' his body, a' the strength o' his speerit, were glowerin' frae his een. It seemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted words, an' made a sign wi' t he left hand. There cam' a clap o' wund, like a cat's fuff; oot gaed the can'le, the saughs skrieghed like folk' an' Mr. Soulis kenned that, live or die, this was the end o' 't.
"Witch, beldam, devil!" he cried, "I charge you, by the power of God, begone--if you be dead, to the grave; if you be damned, to hell."
An' at that moment the Lord's ain hand out o' the heevens struck the Horror whaur it stood; the auld, deid, desecrated corp o' the witch- w ife, sae lang keepit frae the grave and hirselled round by deils, lowed up like a brunstane spunk and fell in ashes to the grund; the thunder followed, peal on dirling peal, the rairing rain upon the back o' that; and Mr. Soulis lowped through the garden hedge, and ran, wi' s kelloch upon skelloch, for the clachan.
That same mornin' John Christie saw the black man pass the Muckle Cairn as it was chappin' six; before eicht, he gaed by the change- h ouse at Knockdow; an' no lang after, Sandy M'Lellan saw him gaun linkin' doun the braes frae Kilmackerlie. There's little doubt but it was him that dwalled sae lang in Janet's body; but he was awa' at last; and sinsyne the deil has never fashed us in Ba'weary.
But it was a sair dispensation for the minister; lang, lang he lay ravin' in his bed; and frae that hour to this, he was the man ye ken the day.
