omas, censoriously.

But the talk was turned into another channel by the appearance--a few
ridges off--for they were standing in a field--of Truffey, who, with
frantic efforts to get on, made but little speed, so deep did his
crutch sink in the soaked earth. He had to pull it out at every step,
and seemed mad in his foiled anxiety to reach them. He tried to shout,
but nothing was heard beyond a crow like that of a hoarse chicken. Alec
started off to meet him, but just as he reached him his crutch broke in
the earth, and he fell and lay unable to speak a word. With slow and
ponderous arrival, Thomas Crann came up.

"Annie Anderson!" panted out Truffey at length.

"What aboot _her_?" said both in alarm.

"Tibbie Dyster!" sobbed Truffey in reply.

"Here's Jeames Johnstone!" said Thomas; "he'll tell's a' aboot it."

He surmised the facts, but waited in painful expectation of assurance
from the deacon, who came slipping and sliding along the wet ridges.

"What's this?" he cried fiercely, as James came within hearing.

"What is't?" returned the weaver eagerly.

If Thomas had been a swearing man, what a terrible oath he would have
sworn in the wrath which this response of the weaver roused in his
apprehensive soul! But Truffey was again trying to speak, and with a

"Be ashamed o' yersel', Jeames Johnstone," the mason bent his ear to
listen.

"They'll be droont. They'll be taen awa. They canna win oot."

Thomas and Alec turned and stared at each other.

"The boat!" gasped Thomas.

Alec made no reply. That was a terrible water to look at. And the boat
was small.

"Can ye guide it, Alec?" said Thomas, his voice trembling, and the
muscles of his face working.

The terrors of the night had returned upon Alec. Would the boat live?
Was there more than a chance? And if she went down, was he not damned
for ever? He made no reply. He was afraid.

"Alec!" shouted Thomas, in a voice that might have been heard across
the roar of the Glamour, "Will ye lat the women droon?"

"Thomas," answered Alec, meekly, trembling from head to foot, "gin I
gang to the boddom, I gang to hell."

"Better be damned, doin' the will o' God, than saved doin' noathing!"
said Thomas.

The blood shot into Alec's face. He turned and ran.

"Thomas," said James Johnstone, with shy interposition, laying his
forefinger upon the stonemason's broad chest, "hae ye considered what
ye're drivin' the young man till?"

"Ay, weel eneuch, Jeames Johns