But its thin light was unneeded, for the great flood of moonshine, coming through the slits of the skins, made a clear yellow twilight.

By it I marked the figure of Muckle John on his knees.
"Good evening to you, Mr.Gib," I said.
The figure sprang to its feet and strode over to me.
"Who are ye," it cried, "who speaks a name that is no more spoken on earth ?" "Just a countryman of yours, who has forgathered with you before.

Have you no mind of the Cauldstaneslap and the Canongate Tolbooth ?" He snatched up the lamp and peered into my face, but he was long past recollection.
"I know ye not.

But if ye be indeed one from that idolatrous country of Scotland, the Lord hath sent you to witness the triumph of His servant, Know that I am no longer the man John Gib, but the chosen of the Lord, to whom He hath given a new name, even Jerubbaal, saying let Baal plead against him, because he hath thrown down his altar." "That's too long a word for me to remember, Mr.Gib, so by your leave I'll call you as you were christened." I had forced myself to a slow coolness, and my voice seemed to madden him.
"Ye would outface me," he cried.

"I see ye are an idolater from the tents of Shem, on whom judgment will be speedy and surprising.