. There was a fower-posted bed wi' auld
tapestry; an' a braw cabinet o' aik, that was fu' o' the minister's
divinity books, an' put there to be out o' the gate; an' a wheen duds o'
Janet's lying here an' there about the floor. But nae Janet could Mr.
Soulis see; nor ony sign o' a contention. In he gaed (an' there's few
that wad hae followed him) an' lookit a' round, an' listened. But there
was naething to be heard, neither inside the manse nor in a' Ba'weary
parish, an' naething 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 steekit, the tongue projected frae her mouth, an'
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'
darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in the Lord. He turned an' gaed his
ways oot o' that room, an' lockit the door ahint him; an' step by step,
doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; an' set doon the can'le on the table
at the stairfoot. He couldna pray, he couldna think, he was dreepin' wi'
caul' swat, an' naething could he hear but the dunt-dunt-duntin' o' his
ain heart. He micht maybe hae 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 chalmer whaur 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' it seemed to
him as if the corp was lookin' ower the rail an' doun upon him whaur he
stood.

He took up the can'le again (for he couldna want the licht), an' 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; naething
moved, but the Dule water seepin' an' sabbin' doun the glen, an' yon
unhaly footstep that cam