"Mrs. Gourlay!" he said, as he peered into her hard face.
"Ay, guidwife Christian, as my husband says. Christian Gourlay that is—Christian Dempster that was."
"Dempster!" ejaculated he, as he staggered and sustained himself against the side of the close.
"Yes, sir—Patrick Guthrie that was when I was Dempster, and is—ay, and will be till you are born again, and baptized with fire."
"Patrick Guthrie!" he repeated. "Yes, the man, the very man. And here, too, is the evidence kept and preserved, perhaps more than once snatched from death, to be here at this hour to see me, and lay your hand on me, and be certain that I am the man, the very man. And," after a pause, "you have kept your sworn promise?"
"Till this day. Look up there, and see thae closed shutters; go in, and behold, and say whether or not."
"Too faithful!" groaned he.
"To an aith wrung out o' me by a money-bribe and terror."
"And to be repaid by a money-reward and penitence."
"The ane, sir, but never the other. Another day—another day," she repeated, "will try a'."