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- Джон Бакен
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They
had
crossed
Aller
half
a
mile
below
Roodfoot
,
and
had
come
to
the
turning
of
the
ways
.
The
clouds
had
thinned
and
the
struggling
moon
showed
Melanudrigill
before
them
,
rising
and
falling
like
an
ocean
of
darkness
.
David
kept
his
horse
’
s
head
straight
for
it
,
and
Chasehope
,
who
had
been
riding
on
his
left
,
edged
his
beast
across
the
path
.
"
Ye
’
ll
be
for
the
short
road
.
I
’
ll
gang
quicker
by
the
back
o
’
Windyways
.
.
.
.
Losh
,
that
’
s
an
awesome
wind
.
"
"
It
is
the
wind
of
the
Lord
’
s
anger
.
"
"
Guid
e
’
en
to
ye
,
and
God
send
ye
a
contrite
heart
!
"
Chasehope
seemed
to
have
recovered
courage
at
the
prospect
of
parting
company
.
David
laid
a
hand
on
his
bridle
.
"
Nay
,
you
and
I
do
not
twine
here
.
Our
road
lies
yonder
.
"
"
Are
ye
daft
,
man
?
"
Chasehope
cried
,
his
voice
strong
again
.
"
Who
are
you
to
order
a
man
like
me
?
"
The
voice
was
strong
,
but
in
its
shrillness
was
disquiet
.
"
I
do
not
order
you
.
Look
in
your
heart
and
you
will
find
the
compulsion
.
It
was
not
for
nothing
,
Ephrairn
Caird
,
that
we
forgathered
this
night
.
The
Lord
ordained
it
,
and
in
your
marrow
you
know
that
you
cannot
leave
me
.
This
night
we
are
in
a
closer
bond
than
man
and
wife
.
"
"
Havers
!
"
It
was
the
last
spasm
of
bluster
,
and
the
voice
was
weaker
than
the
word
.
"
I
’
ll
do
no
man
’
s
bidding
.
Tak
’
your
hand
from
my
bridle
.
"
