God forgive you, John Gib, for you are no Christian, and no Scot, and no man." "Virginia is an idolatrous land," said he; but he could not look up at me.
"And are your Indians not idolaters?
Are you no idolater, with your burnt offerings and heathen gibberish?
You worship a Baal and a Moloch worse than any Midianite, for you adore the devils of your own rotten heart." The big man, with all the madness out of him, put his towsy head in his hands, and a sob shook his great shoulders.
"Listen to me, John Gib.

I am come from your own country-side to save you from a hellish wickedness, I know the length and breadth of Virginia, and the land is full of Scots, men of the Covenant you have forsworn, who are living an honest life on their bits of farms, and worshipping the God you have forsaken.

There are women there like Alison Steel, and there are men there like yourself before you hearkened to the devil.

Will you bring death to your own folk, with whom you once shared the hope of salvation?
By the land we both have left, and the kindly souls we both have known, and the prayers you said at your mother's knee, and the love of Christ who died for us, I adjure you to flee this great sin.

For it is the sin against the Holy Ghost, and that knows no forgiveness." The man was fairly broken down.