But there was one man who knew more about such secret things, she fully believed, than any man alive; and that man was Thomas Crann. Thomas was a rather dreadful man, with his cold eyes, high shoulders, and wheezing breath; and Annie was afraid of him. But she would have encountered the terrors of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, as surely as the Pilgrim, to get rid of the demon nightmare that lay upon her bosom, crushing the life out of her heart. So she plucked up courage, like Christian of old, and resolved to set out for the house of the Interpreter. Judging, however, that he could not yet be home from his work, she thought it better to go home herself first. After eating a bit of oat cake, with a mug of blue milk for _kitchie_ (Latin "obsonium"), she retired to her garret and waited drearily, but did not try to pray. CHAPTER XXIX. It was very dark by the time she left the house, for the night was drizzly; but she knew the windings of Glamerton almost as well as the way up her garret-stair. Thomas's door was half open, and a light was shining from the kitchen. She knocked timidly. At the same moment she heard the voice of Thomas from the other end of this house, which consisted only of a _but and a ben_. In the ben-end (the inner originally, hence better room) there was no light: Thomas often sat in the dark. "Jean, come ben to worship," he cried roughly. "Comin', Thamas," answered Jean. Again Annie knocked, but again without result. Her knock was too gentle. After a moment's pause, dreading that the intended prayers might interfere with her project, she knocked yet again; but a second time her knock was overwhelmed in the gruff call of Thomas, sounding yet more peremptory than before. "Jean, come ben to worship." "Hoot, Thamas, hae patience, man. I canna come." "Jean, come ben to worship direckly." "I'm i' the mids' o' cleanin' the shune. I hae dooble wark o' Mononday, ye ken." "The shune can bide." "Worship can bide." "Haud yer tongue. The shune can bide." "Na, na; they canna bide." "Gin ye dinna come ben this minute, I'll hae worship my lane." Vanquished by the awful threat, Jean dropped the shoe she held, and turned her apron; but having to pass the door on her way to the ben-end, she saw Annie standing on the threshold, and stopped with a start, ejaculating: "The Lord preserve's, lassie!" "Jean, what are ye sweerin' at?" cried Thomas, angrily. "At Annie Anderson," answered Jean simply. "What for are ye sweerin' at _her_? I'm sure she's a douce lassie. What does the bairn want?" "What do ye want, Annie?" "I want to see Thomas, gin ye please," answered Annie. "She wants to see you, Thomas," screamed Jean; remarking in a lower voice, "He's as deef's a door-nail, Annie Anderson." "Lat her come in, than," bawled Thomas.