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Updated: June 26, 2025
"Gang ye hame, Annie, my bairn," said he, talking Scotch now, "and dinna trouble yer heid about election, and a' that. It's no' a canny doctrine. No mortal man could ever win at the boddom o' 't. I'm thinkin' we haena muckle to do w' 't. Gang hame, dawtie, and say yer prayers to be preserved frae the wiles o' Sawtan. There 's a sixpence to ye."
"What for didna ye tell me what fowk was sayin' aboot me anent Lizzy Findlay?" "'Cause I didna believe a word o' 't, an' I wasna gaein' to add to yer troubles." "Lizzy never mootit sic a thing?" "Never." "I was sure o' that! Noo I 'll awa' to Kirkbyres God help me! I wad raither face Sawtan an' his muckle tyke. But dinna ye expec' ony news. Gien yon ane kens, she's a' the surer no to tell.
"Save us!" exclaimed Meg Kissock, "the craitur's prayin' to the Ill Body himsel'." Ebbie Farrish began to clear away the peat, which was, indeed, no difficult task. I wad rayther hae yersel', Maister o' Sawtan, for ye are a big mensefu' deil. Ouch! I'm dune for noo, althegither; he haes gotten puir Jock! Sirce me, I smell the reekit rags o' him!"
But naething would satisfy Tam Dale, till ane o' them had startit on aheid to stand sentry on the boat. The ithers askit if he was for down again. "Na," says he, "and neither you nor me," says he, "and as sune as I can win to stand on my twa feet we'll be aff frae this craig o' Sawtan."
He strode up to his wife, and stood over her like an angel of vengeance. His very lips were white with wrath. "Efter thirty years o' merried life, noo first to ken the wife o' my boasom for a messenger o' Sawtan!" he panted. "Gang oot o' my sicht, wuman!" She fell on her knees, and held up her two hands to him. "Think o' Jamie, Peter!" she pleaded. "I wad tyne my sowl for Jamie!"
All at once he started to his feet, and turning towards the bed a white face distorted with agony, kneeled down on the box and groaned out: "O God, the pains o' hell hae gotten haud upo' me. O Lord, I'm i' the grup o' Sawtan. The deevil o' drink has me by the hause.
It's no 'at we're drunkards, Lord ow na! it's no that, Lord; it's only 'at we canna dee wantin' the drink. We're sair drinkers, I maun confess, but no jist drunkards, Lord. I'm no drunk the noo; I ken what I'm sayin', an' it's sair trowth, but I cudna hae prayt a word to yer lordship gien I hadna had a jooggy or twa first. O Lord, deliver me frae the pooer o' Sawtan. O Lord! O Lord!
"Div ye railly think it, Ma'colm?" sighed the factor with a flush. "I div that, sir. Only whan ye grow better, gien ye'll alloo me to say't, sir, ye maunna lat Sawtan temp' ye to think 'at this same repentin' was but a wakeness o' the flesh, an' no an enlichtenment o' the speerit." "I s' tie mysel' up till 't," cried the factor, eagerly.
"The herrin 's like the fowk 'at cairries the mate an' the pooder an' sic like for them 'at does the fechtin'. The hert o' the leevin' man's the place whaur the battle's foucht, an' it's aye gaein' on an' on there atween God an' Sawtan; an' the fish they haud fowk up till 't." "Do you mean that the herrings help you to fight for God?" said Lady Florimel with a superior smile.
He's but a puir cratur wha's tribble's ower strang for him that's a'. Sawtan has as little to du wi' him as wi' ony man I ken."
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