But I managed it, and in the early dawn I was knocking at Mr Turnbull's door.

The mist lay close and thick, and from the cottage I could not see the highroad.
Mr Turnbull himself opened to me--sober and something more than sober.
He was primly dressed in an ancient but well-tended suit of black; he had been shaved not later than the night before; he wore a linen collar; and in his left hand he carried a pocket Bible.

At first he did not recognize me.
'Whae are ye that comes stravaigin' here on the Sabbath mornin' ?' he asked.
I had lost all count of the days.

So the Sabbath was the reason for this strange decorum.
My head was swimming so wildly that I could not frame a coherent answer.

But he recognized me, and he saw that I was ill.
'Hae ye got my specs ?' he asked.
I fetched them out of my trouser pocket and gave him them.
'Ye'll hae come for your jaicket and westcoat,' he said.