And then the bell once more broke out into impatient clamour.
He confronted the maid upon the threshold with something like a smile.
'You had better go for the police,' said he: 'I have killed your master.' THRAWN JANET The Reverend Murdoch Soulis was long minister of the moorland parish of Balweary, in the vale of Dule.

A severe, bleak-faced old man, dreadful to his hearers, he dwelt in the last years of his life, without relative or servant or any human company, in the small and lonely manse under the Hanging Shaw.

In spite of the iron composure of his features, his eye was wild, scared, and uncertain; and when he dwelt, in private admonitions, on the future of the impenitent, it seemed as if his eye pierced through the storms of time to the terrors of eternity.

Many young persons, coming to prepare themselves against the season of the Holy Communion, were dreadfully affected by his talk.

He had a sermon on lst Peter, v.