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- Джон Бакен
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- Стр. 86/195
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Up
in
his
tree
-
top
the
minister
had
now
an
undivided
mind
.
He
had
the
names
of
several
of
the
females
of
the
coven
firm
in
his
memory
,
and
for
the
men
he
must
trust
to
Reiverslaw
.
There
were
some
of
the
dancers
with
goat
-
horns
,
but
as
the
rout
swung
round
it
seemed
to
him
that
a
new
goat
-
mask
had
appeared
,
a
taller
,
wilder
figure
,
who
was
specially
devout
in
his
obeisance
before
Hound
-
face
.
Was
it
Reiverslaw
with
his
aniseed
?
The
night
had
become
very
dark
,
and
the
only
light
in
the
glade
came
from
the
candles
which
burned
in
its
hidden
hollows
.
And
then
suddenly
a
colder
wind
blew
,
and
like
the
burst
of
a
dam
came
a
deluge
of
rain
.
The
Lammas
floods
had
broken
,
stealing
upon
the
world
,
as
is
their
fashion
,
out
of
a
fair
sky
.
It
seemed
to
David
-
-
and
he
held
it
part
of
the
infernal
miracle
-
-
that
the
torrent
did
not
quench
the
lights
.
In
a
trice
he
himself
was
soaked
to
the
skin
,
but
the
candles
still
burned
,
though
the
rain
beat
on
the
floor
of
the
glade
with
a
sound
like
a
whip
-
lash
.
.
.
.
But
it
ended
the
dance
.
The
silver
pipe
sounded
again
,
and
as
the
wind
rose
higher
and
the
falling
water
slanted
under
it
to
search
out
even
the
bield
of
the
trees
,
he
saw
figures
moving
hurriedly
off
.
The
next
time
he
looked
down
through
the
spears
of
rain
-
-
for
the
hidden
moon
still
made
a
dim
brightness
in
the
world
-
-
the
glade
was
empty
.
Above
the
noise
of
the
storm
he
thought
he
heard
the
strange
babble
of
tongues
,
but
now
it
was
departing
to
the
far
corners
of
the
Wood
.
He
waited
for
a
little
and
then
tried
to
descend
.
But
he
found
it
harder
to
get
down
than
to
get
up
,
for
he
could
not
find
the
branch
by
which
he
had
swung
himself
from
the
lesser
tree
,
and
in
the
end
had
to
drop
a
good
twenty
feet
into
the
bracken
,
whence
he
rolled
into
the
empty
glade
.
.
.
.
He
scrambled
to
his
feet
and
made
haste
to
get
out
of
it
,
but
not
before
he
had
sniffed
the
odour
of
unclean
pelts
.
-
-
And
yes
-
-
surely
that
was
the
stink
of
Reiverslaw
’
s
aniseed
.
He
had
no
difficulty
about
his
homeward
course
.
Most
of
the
way
he
ran
,
but
fear
had
completely
left
his
heart
.
The
rain
in
his
face
seemed
to
cleanse
and
invigorate
him
.
He
had
looked
upon
great
wickedness
,
but
he
had
looked
down
on
it
,
like
the
Almighty
,
from
above
,
and
it
seemed
a
frail
and
pitiful
thing
-
-
a
canker
to
be
rooted
out
,
but
a
thing
with
no
terror
for
a
servant
of
God
.
The
Devil
was
but
a
botcher
after
all
.
And
then
he
remembered
how
the
first
notes
of
the
music
had
melted
him
,
and
he
felt
humbled
.
Reiverslaw
had
arrived
at
the
Greenshiel
before
him
.
The
place
was
filled
with
the
reek
of
burning
hides
,
and
David
saw
that
the
goat
-
mask
and
cloak
had
been
laid
on
the
peats
.
His
ally
,
a
weird
dripping
figure
,
sat
on
a
stool
sipping
the
aqua
vitæ
which
Rab
Prentice
had
brought
with
him
.
He
,
who
had
started
the
night
’
s
venture
with
such
notable
sang
-
froid
,
was
now
in
a
sweat
of
fright
.
"
Be
thankit
ye
’
re
safe
,
"
he
stuttered
,
while
the
spirits
spilled
over
his
beard
.
"
I
never
thocht
to
see
ye
mair
,
for
I
never
thocht
to
win
out
o
’
yon
awesome
place
.
My
legs
are
a
’
gashed
and
scartit
,
for
I
cam
’
here
through
stane
and
briar
like
a
dementit
staig
[
young
horse
]
.
Oh
,
sir
,
siccan
a
sicht
for
mortal
een
!
"
"
Saw
ye
the
Foul
Thief
?
"
asked
the
awed
Prentice
.
