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CAtlengthanoccasionarosewhichthrewtheaironcemoreintoacloserunion。Mr。Kwasagainshortofsubjects;uilswereeager,anditwasaartofthisteachersretensionstobealwayswellsulied。AtthesametimetherecamethenewsofaburialintherusticgraveyardofGlencorse。Timehaslittlechangedthelaceinquestion。Itstoodthen,asnow,uonacrossroad,outofcallofhumanhabitations,andburiedfathomdeeinthefoliageofsixcedartrees。Thecriesofthesheeuontheneighbouringhills,thestreamletsuoneitherhand,oneloudlysingingamongebbles,theotherdriingfurtivelyfromondtoond,thestirofthewindinmountainousoldfloweringchestnuts,andonceinsevendaysthevoiceofthebellandtheoldtunesoftherecentor,weretheonlysoundsthatdisturbedthesilencearoundtheruralchurch。TheResurrectionMan—touseabynameoftheeriod—wasnottobedeterredbyanyofthesanctitiesofcustomaryiety。Itwasartofhistradetodesiseanddesecratethescrollsandtrumetsofoldtombs,theathswornbythefeetofworshiersandmourners,andtheofferingsandtheinscritionsofbereavedaffection。Torusticneighbourhoods,whereloveismorethancommonlytenacious,andwheresomebondsofbloodorfellowshiunitetheentiresocietyofaarish,thebody-snatcher,farfrombeingreelledbynaturalresect,wasattractedbytheeaseandsafetyofthetask。Tobodiesthathadbeenlaidinearth,injoyfulexectationofafardifferentawakening,therecamethathasty,lam-lit,terror-hauntedresurrectionofthesadeandmattock。Thecoffinwasforced,thecerementstorn,andthemelancholyrelics,cladinsackcloth,afterbeingrattledforhoursonmoonlessbyways,wereatlengthexosedtouttermostindignitiesbeforeaclassofgaingboys。
Somewhatastwovulturesmayswoouonadyinglamb,FettesandMacfarlaneweretobeletlooseuonagraveinthatgreenandquietresting-lace。Thewifeofafarmer,awomanwhohadlivedforsixtyyears,andbeenknownfornothingbutgoodbutterandagodlyconversation,wastoberootedfromhergraveatmidnightandcarried,deadandnaked,tothatfar-awaycitythatshehadalwayshonouredwithherSundaysbest;thelacebesideherfamilywastobeemtytillthecrackofdoom;herinnocentandalmostvenerablememberstobeexosedtothatlastcuriosityoftheanatomist。
Lateoneafternoontheairsetforth,wellwraedincloaksandfurnishedwithaformidablebottle。Itrainedwithoutremission—acold,dense,lashingrain。Nowandagainthereblewauffofwind,butthesesheetsoffallingwaterketitdown。Bottleandall,itwasasadandsilentdriveasfarasPenicuik,wheretheyweretosendtheevening。Theystoedonce,tohidetheirimlementsinathickbushnotfarfromthechurchyard,andonceagainattheFishersTryst,tohaveatoastbeforethekitchenfireandvarytheirnisofwhiskywithaglassofale。Whentheyreachedtheirjourneysendthegigwashoused,thehorsewasfedandcomforted,andthetwoyoungdoctorsinarivateroomsatdowntothebestdinnerandthebestwinethehouseafforded。Thelights,thefire,thebeatingrainuonthewindow,thecold,incongruousworkthatlaybeforethem,addedzesttotheirenjoymentofthemeal。Witheveryglasstheircordialityincreased。SoonMacfarlanehandedalittleileofgoldtohiscomanion。
"Acomliment,
"hesaid。
"Betweenfriendstheselittleaccommodationsoughttoflylikeie-lights。
"
Fettesocketedthemoney,andalaudedthesentimenttotheecho。
"Youareahilosoher,
"hecried。
"IwasanasstillIknewyou。YouandK—betweenyou,bytheLordHarry!butyoullmakeamanofme。
"
"Ofcourseweshall,
"alaudedMacfarlane。
"Aman?Itellyou,itrequiredamantobackmeutheothermorning。Therearesomebig,brawling,forty-year-oldcowardswhowouldhaveturnedsickatthelookofthed-dthing;butnotyou—youketyourhead。Iwatchedyou。
"
"Well,andwhynot?
"Fettesthusvauntedhimself。
"Itwasnoaffairofmine。Therewasnothingtogainontheonesidebutdisturbance,andontheotherIcouldcountonyourgratitude,dontyousee?
"Andheslaedhisockettillthegoldiecesrang。
Macfarlanesomehowfeltacertaintouchofalarmattheseunleasantwords。Hemayhaveregrettedthathehadtaughthisyoungcomanionsosuccessfully,buthehadnotimetointerfere,fortheothernoisilycontinuedinthisboastfulstrain:
"Thegreatthingisnottobeafraid。Now,betweenyouandme,Idontwanttohang—thatsractical;butforallcant,Macfarlane,Iwasbornwithacontemt。Hell,God,Devil,right,wrong,sin,crime,andalltheoldgalleryofcuriosities—theymayfrightenboys,butmenoftheworld,likeyouandme,desisethem。HerestothememoryofGray!
"