comin' to save ye, an' canna stop, Sir. Here he is."

The laird was going to break out into a volley of wrath against
Waters, his servant; but, before he got a word pronounced, the
Rev. Mr. Wringhim had stepped inside the room, and Waters had
retired, shutting the door behind him.

No introduction could be more mal-a-propos: it was impossible;
for at that very moment the laird and Arabella Logan were both
sitting on one seat, and both looking on one book, when the door
opened. "What is it, Sir?" said the laird fiercely.

"A message of the greatest importance, Sir," said the divine,
striding unceremoniously up to the chimney, turning his back to
the fire, and his face to the culprits. "I think you should know me,
Sir?" continued he, looking displeasedly at the laird, with his face
half turned round.

"I think I should," returned the laird. "You are a Mr. How's--tey--
ca'--him, of Glasgow, who did me the worst turn ever I got done
to me in my life. You gentry are always ready to do a man such a
turn. Pray, Sir, did you ever do a good job for anyone to
counterbalance that? For, if you have not, you ought to be--"

"Hold, Sir, I say! None of your profanity before me. If I do evil to
anyone on such occasions, it is because he will have it so;
therefore, the evil is not of my doing. I ask you, Sir, before God
and this witness, I ask you, have you kept solemnly and inviolate
the vows which I laid upon you that day? Answer me!"