Jeanie said, “that her business at London was express; all she wanted was, that any gentleman would, out of Christian charity, protect her to some town where she could hire horses and a guide; and finally,” she thought, “it would be her father’s mind that she was not free to give testimony in an English court of justice, as the land was not under a direct gospel dispensation.”
Mr. Staunton stared a little, and asked if her father was a Quaker.
“God forbid, sir,” said Jeanie—“He is nae schismatic nor sectary, nor ever treated for sic black commodities as theirs, and that’s weel kend o’ him.”
“And what is his name, pray?” said Mr. Staunton.
“David Deans, sir, the cowfeeder at Saint Leonard’s Crags, near Edinburgh.”
A deep groan from the anteroom prevented the Rector from replying, and, exclaiming, “Good God! that unhappy boy!” he left Jeanie alone, and hastened into the outer apartment.
Some noise and bustle was heard, but no one entered the library for the best part of an hour.
CHAPTER NINTH.
Fantastic passions’ maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which, all confused, I could not know
Whether I suffer’d or I did,
For all seem’d guilt, remorse, or woe;
My own, or others, still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.
Coleridge.