"As one whose brain demoniac frenzy fires
Owes to his fit, in which his soul hath tost,
Profounder quiet, when the fit retires,--
Even so the dire phantasma which had crost
His sense, in sudden vacancy quite lost,
Left his mind still as a deep evening stream".
The keeper, hardly knowing what to say, remarked, "It's ae consolation, that your wicked faither and mither will be weel punished noo for a' their sins. Ye needna curse them! They're beyond ony hairm that ye can do them. They're cursed eneuch, I'se warrant, wi'oot your meddlin' wi' them."
"Guid forbid!" exclaimed Jock. "I houp no'! I houp no'! That wad be maist awfu'!"
"Maybe," said the keeper; "but it's what they deserve frae the han' o' justice. And surely when their ain bairn curses them, he can say naethin' against it."
"I never cursed them, did I?" asked Jock, as if stupefied.