Deeply steeped in this remorseful contemplation, during which the figure
of his ill-used wife flitted before the eye of his fancy with scarcely
less of substantial reality than she had shown in her spectral form, he
found that he had lost all regard to time. The night was fast setting
in, the shadows of the tall houses were falling deeper and deeper on the
room, and the Sabbath stillness was a solemn contrast to the
perturbations inside the chamber of his soul, where "the serpents and
the cockatrices would not be charmed." Still, everything within and
without was dreary, and the spoliation of his means did not tend to
enliven the outer scene, or impart a charm to the owner. While in this
state of depression, Tammas heard a knock at the door. It was not, as on
the former occasions, what is called a tirl. It might be a neighbour, or
it might be an old crony, and he stood in need of some one to raise his
spirits, so he went to the door and opened it. But what was his horror
when he saw enter a female figure, in all respects so like his feared
visitor that he concluded in the instant that she was the same! nor
could all his penitence afford him resolution enough to make a proper
examination; besides, it was grey dark, and even a pair of better eyes
than he could boast of, might, under the circumstances soon to appear,
have been deceived. Retreating into the kitchen, he was followed by this
dubious, and yet not dubious visitor, who, as he threw himself upon a
chair, took a seat right opposite to him.

"Ye'll no ken me, Tammas Dodds?" said she.

Whereupon Tammas looked and looked again, and still the likeness he
dreaded was so impressive, that, in place of moving his tongue, he
moved, that is, he shuddered, all over.