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- Джон Бакен
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- Запретный лес
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- Стр. 191/195
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What
fell
from
Mark
’
s
lips
was
discussed
secretly
for
many
a
day
in
the
countryside
.
Publicly
it
was
rarely
mentioned
,
for
a
more
awful
blasphemy
,
it
seemed
,
was
never
spoken
in
the
house
of
God
.
He
told
two
pillars
of
the
Kirk
and
a
congregation
of
the
devout
that
they
had
all
failed
utterly
to
interpret
God
’
s
Word
;
that
they
were
Pharisees
faithful
to
an
ill
-
understood
letter
and
heedless
of
the
spirit
;
that
they
were
fools
bemused
with
Jewish
rites
which
they
did
not
comprehend
and
Jewish
names
which
they
could
not
properly
pronounce
.
"
It
’
s
nothing
but
a
bairn
’
s
ploy
,
"
he
cried
,
"
but
it
’
s
a
cruel
ploy
,
for
it
has
spilt
muckle
good
blood
in
Scotland
.
If
ye
take
the
blood
-
thirstiness
,
and
the
hewing
in
pieces
,
and
thrawnness
of
the
auld
Jews
,
and
ettle
to
shape
yourselves
on
their
pattern
,
what
for
do
ye
no
gang
further
?
Wherefore
d
’
ye
no
set
up
an
altar
and
burn
a
wedder
on
’
t
?
What
kind
o
’
kirk
is
this
,
when
ye
suld
have
a
temple
with
gopher
and
shittim
wood
and
shew
-
bread
and
an
ark
o
’
the
covenant
and
branched
candlesticks
,
and
busk
your
minister
in
an
ephod
instead
of
a
black
gown
?
Ye
canna
pick
and
choose
in
the
Word
.
If
one
thing
is
to
be
zealously
copied
,
wherefore
not
all
?
.
.
.
Ye
fatted
calves
!
.
.
.
Ye
muckle
weans
,
that
play
at
being
ancient
Israelites
!
"
This
was
too
much
for
Mr
.
Proudfoot
.
"
Silence
,
blasphemer
,
"
he
cried
.
"
In
the
name
of
Him
that
snappeth
the
spear
asunder
I
will
outface
you
.
"
He
stumbled
down
the
pulpit
stairs
,
and
would
no
doubt
have
flung
himself
on
Mark
had
not
old
Nance
Kello
who
sat
at
the
foot
impeded
him
and
given
Mirehope
time
to
catch
his
coat
-
skirts
.
He
stopped
,
breathing
heavily
,
about
three
yards
from
Mark
,
and
,
as
he
stood
,
it
was
not
the
sword
that
a
second
time
deterred
him
.
He
felt
dimly
that
this
outlaw
had
come
to
wear
a
fearful
authority
.
It
was
not
the
tacksman
of
Crossbasket
that
spoke
,
but
the
captain
of
Mackay
’
s
-
-
not
the
farmer
of
Jed
Water
,
but
the
kinsman
of
Roxburghe
and
the
brigadier
of
Montrose
.
Mr
.
Proudfoot
turned
to
his
colleague
and
saw
that
the
Moderator
’
s
eye
was
puzzled
and
uncertain
.
He
bethought
him
of
his
chief
ally
in
the
parish
.
"
Where
is
Chasehope
?
"
he
cried
.
"
Where
is
Ephraim
Caird
?
"
The
answer
came
from
an
unlooked
-
for
quarter
.
Daft
Gibbie
sat
crouched
in
a
corner
of
the
kirk
,
and
those
near
him
had
marked
his
unwonted
silence
.
He
did
not
gabble
as
usual
,
but
sat
with
his
great
head
in
his
hands
,
murmuring
softly
and
rolling
his
wild
eyes
.
But
at
the
mention
of
Chasehope
he
suddenly
found
voice
.
"
He
’
s
up
in
the
hills
,
"
he
cried
.
"
I
seen
him
at
skreigh
o
’
day
at
the
buchts
o
’
the
Drygrain
,
and
he
was
rivin
’
a
yowe
and
cryin
’
that
it
was
a
hound
o
’
hell
and
that
it
suldna
devour
him
.
He
was
a
’
lappered
wi
’
bluid
,
and
when
he
seen
me
he
ran
on
me
,
and
his
een
were
red
and
he
slavered
like
a
mad
tyke
,
and
his
face
was
thrawed
oot
o
’
the
shape
o
’
man
.
Eh
,
sirs
,
puir
Gibbie
was
near
his
end
,
for
I
couldna
stir
a
foot
,
but
afore
he
wan
to
me
there
cam
’
anither
sound
,
and
as
sure
as
death
it
was
like
a
hound
’
s
yawp
.
At
that
he
gangs
off
like
the
wund
,
and
the
next
I
seen
o
’
him
he
was
skelpin
’
through
the
flowe
moss
,
cryin
’
like
ane
in
torment
,
and
I
stottered
hame
to
get
Amos
Ritchie
to
tak
’
his
flintlock
and
stop
yon
awfu
’
skellochs
.
I
’
ll
never
sleep
till
I
ken
that
the
lost
soul
o
’
him
is
free
o
’
the
body
.
"
"
Another
has
told
my
tale
.
"
Mark
spoke
in
a
voice
out
of
which
all
scorn
had
gone
,
a
voice
penetratingly
quiet
and
solemn
.
"
I
,
too
,
have
seen
him
that
once
was
Ephraim
Caird
,
and
I
shudder
at
the
swiftness
of
the
judgment
.
There
is
no
man
or
woman
in
Woodilee
that
does
not
ken
that
he
was
the
leader
of
the
coven
that
practised
the
devil
’
s
arts
in
the
Wood
,
but
he
had
a
name
for
godliness
,
and
he
had
the
measure
of
the
blind
fools
that
call
themselves
ministers
of
God
.
-
-
Sit
still
,
sir
!
I
would
be
loth
to
draw
on
an
unarmed
man
,
but
my
sword
ere
this
has
punished
vermin
.
.
.
.
He
has
sworn
falsely
against
the
innocent
,
and
yestreen
at
Kirk
Aller
he
prevailed
.
But
in
the
night
the
Lord
sent
forth
His
vengeance
-
-
ask
me
not
how
,
for
I
do
not
know
-
-
and
this
day
he
is
running
demented
on
the
hills
,
pursued
by
the
dogs
of
his
own
terrors
.
Go
and
look
for
him
.
You
will
find
him
in
a
bog
-
hole
or
a
pool
in
the
burn
.
Bury
his
body
decently
,
but
bury
it
face
downward
,
so
that
you
speed
him
on
his
road
.
"
There
was
such
a
silence
that
the
rasp
of
a
stool
on
the
earthen
floor
struck
the
hearers
like
a
thunderclap
.
