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To
his
consternation
he
found
that
he
now
sat
very
loose
in
his
devotion
to
the
Kirk
.
The
profession
of
religion
was
not
the
same
thing
as
godliness
,
and
he
was
coming
to
doubt
whether
the
insistence
upon
minute
conformities
of
outward
conduct
and
the
hair
-
splitting
doctrines
were
not
devices
of
Satan
to
entangle
souls
.
The
phrases
of
piety
,
unctuously
delivered
,
made
him
shudder
as
at
a
blasphemy
.
The
fact
that
his
only
supporter
was
one
looked
askance
at
by
strict
professors
confirmed
his
shrinking
.
Had
not
Christ
set
the
publican
and
the
sinner
above
the
Pharisee
?
One
consequence
of
his
new
mood
was
that
his
thoughts
turned
again
to
the
girl
in
Paradise
.
In
his
season
of
desolation
he
had
not
dared
to
think
of
her
;
she
belonged
to
a
world
of
light
,
and
had
no
part
in
his
perplexities
.
To
let
her
image
fill
his
memory
seemed
sacrilege
,
when
that
memory
held
so
many
foul
shadows
.
But
as
the
skies
cleared
for
him
her
figure
appeared
again
in
the
sunlight
and
he
did
not
banish
it
,
for
it
was
she
who
was
the
extreme
opposite
of
the
horror
of
the
Wood
-
-
she
and
her
bright
domain
of
oaks
and
hazels
.
He
would
go
again
to
Paradise
for
his
soul
’
s
comfort
.
He
chose
a
day
when
he
was
certain
she
would
be
there
.
There
was
a
week
of
fiery
weather
-
-
moist
heat
and
heavy
skies
and
flying
thunderstorms
,
and
after
it
came
a
spell
of
long
bright
days
,
when
the
sunshine
had
a
dry
tonic
in
it
,
and
the
afternoons
were
mellow
and
golden
.
On
one
such
afternoon
he
crossed
the
Hill
of
Deer
and
entered
the
glen
which
divided
the
pines
from
the
hazels
.
Midsummer
had
changed
the
place
.
The
burn
-
side
turf
was
all
thyme
and
eyebright
and
milkwort
,
with
the
stars
of
the
grass
of
Parnassus
in
the
wet
places
.
The
water
was
clear
and
small
,
and
the
cascades
fell
in
a
tinkling
silver
.
He
had
no
doubts
as
to
his
road
now
.
Paradise
was
among
the
hazels
,
but
one
could
find
it
only
by
descending
the
glen
to
where
the
pines
of
the
Wood
began
and
then
turning
to
the
right
towards
the
Greenshiel
.
Presently
the
pines
in
a
sombre
regiment
rose
on
the
steep
to
the
left
.
He
looked
at
the
beginning
of
the
Wood
with
an
awe
which
had
now
no
fear
in
it
.
The
place
was
hateful
,
but
it
could
not
daunt
him
.
It
was
the
battleground
to
which
he
was
called
.
On
the
edge
of
the
trees
was
a
great
mass
of
dark
foxgloves
,
the
colour
of
blood
,
and
they
seemed
to
make
a
blood
-
trail
from
the
sunlight
into
the
gloom
.
He
turned
up
the
right
bank
,
and
through
hazel
copses
and
glades
,
breast
-
high
with
bracken
,
he
made
his
way
as
if
by
instinct
.
He
found
the
shallow
cup
lined
with
birches
and
the
blossoming
rowans
,
and
as
he
brushed
through
the
covert
he
saw
the
girl
sitting
on
the
greensward
by
the
well
.
Motionless
he
watched
her
for
a
little
,
while
his
heart
played
strange
pranks
.
She
had
a
basket
beside
her
full
of
flowers
,
and
she
was
reading
in
a
book
.
.
.
.
She
laid
down
the
book
,
and
shook
her
curls
and
dabbled
her
fingers
in
the
water
.
She
sang
as
she
dabbled
,
low
and
clear
in
snatches
,
a
song
which
he
was
to
remember
to
his
dying
day
:
"
There
’
s
comfort
for
the
comfortless
,
