"What is it?" asked the minister, returning.
"There's neither light nor bed here, and I'm an ageing man."
"Darkness is better light and earthen floors are softer bedding than you will have in the place you are hastening to if you do not repent and talk to Margaret."
There was a spell of silence again.
"Willum!—Willum! Are ye there?"
"Yes! Andrew."
"Could I ha'e my pipe and tobacco and a puckle matches? They're on the kitchen mantel-piece."
"Unless it is a drink of water, not a thing shall pass through this doorway to you till you pledge me that you will speak to Margaret, as you did before you took your devil's vow."
The dour old man, in his erstwhile prison, had the last word:
"Gang awa' wi' ye,—for it'll be a long time, Willum Auld. The snaw will be fallin' blue frae the Heavens."