"'But I care not a crack for a soul so black,
And thou may'st have it yet:
I would let it burn to eternity,
My brother alive to set.'
"The demon lifted his beaver up,
Crusted with blood and mould;
And, lo! John Gordon looked out of the helm,
And smiled upon Archibold.
"'Thy soul is mine, brother Archie,' he said,
'And I yield it thee none the worse;
No devil came near thee, Archie, lad,
But a brother to be thy nurse.'
"Lord Archibold fell upon his knee,
On the blood-fed, bright green sod:
'The soul that my brother gives back to me,
Is thine for ever, O God!'"
"Now for a piece of good, honest prose!" said the curate, the moment Harry
had finished, without allowing room for any remarks. "That is, if the
ladies and gentlemen will allow me to read once more."
Of course, all assented heartily.
"It is nothing of a story, but I think it is something of a picture, drawn
principally from experiences of my own childhood, which I told you was
spent chiefly in the north of Scotland.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88