vening, apparently
dissatisfied with what his wife had done in entertaining me, and spoke
to her in a manner so crusty that I thought proper to rebuke him, for
the woman was comely in her person, and virtuous in her conversation;
but the weaver, her husband, was large of make, ill-favoured, and
pestilent; therefore did I take him severely to task for the tenor of
his conduct; but the man was froward, and answered me rudely with
sneering and derision and, in the height of his caprice, he said to his
wife: "Whan focks are sae keen of a chance o' entertaining angels,
gude-wife, it wad maybe be worth their while to tak tent what kind o'
angels they are. It wadna wonder me vera muckle an ye had entertained
your friend the Deil the night, for aw thought aw fand a saur o' reek
an' brimstane about him. He's nane o' the best o' angels, an focks
winna hae muckle credit by entertaining him."

Certainly, in the assured state I was in, I had as little reason to be
alarmed at mention being made of the Devil as any person on earth: of
late, however, I felt that the reverse was the case, and that any
allusion to my great enemy moved me exceedingly. The weaver's speech
had such an effect on me that both he and his wife were alarmed at my
looks. The latter thought I was angry, and chided her husband gently
for his rudeness; but the weaver himself rather seemed to be confirmed
in his opinion that I was the Devil, for he looked round like a
startled roe-buck, and immediately betook him to the family Bible.

I know not whether it was on purpose to prove my identity or not, but I
think he was going to desire me either to read a certain portion of
Scripture that he had sought out, or to make family worship, had not
the conversation at that instant taken another turn; for the weaver,
not knowing how to address me, abruptly asked my name, as he was about
to put the Bible into my hands. Never having considered myself in the
light of a male-factor, but rather as a champion in the cause of truth,
and finding myself perfectly safe under my disguise, I had never once
thought of the utility of changing my name, and, when the man asked me,
I hesitated; but, being compelled to say something, I said my name was
Cowan. The man stared at me, and then at his wife, with a look that
spoke a knowledge of something alarming or mysterious.

"Ha! Cowan?" said he. "That's most extraordinar! Not Colwan, I hope?"

"No: Cowan is my sirname," said I. "But why not