At last, in a moment, a cry of agony arose, so terrible that all who heard it trembled, and more than one woman shrieked in return, and fled from the door, at which, the next moment, the clergyman stood alone, collected, but pale, and beckoned. Several women advanced. “One woman,” said he. Jean Carnie was admitted; and after a while returned. “She is come to hersel',” whispered she; “I am no weel mysel'.” And she passed into her own house. Then Flucker crept to the door to see. “Oh, dinna spy on her,” cried Christie. “Oh, yes, Flucker,” said many voices. “He is kneelin',” said Flucker. “He has her hand, to gar her kneel tae--she winna--she does na see him, nor hear him; he will hae her. He has won her to kneel--he is prayin, an' greetin aside her. I canna see noo, my een's blinded.” “He's a gude mon,” said Christie. “Oh, what wad we do without the ministers?” Sandy Liston had been leaning sorrowfully against the wall of the next house; he now broke out: “An auld shipmate at the whale-fishing!!! an' noow we'll never lift the dredging sang thegither again, in yon dirty detch that's droowned him; I maun hae whisky, an' forget it a'.” He made for the spirit-shop like a madman; but ere he could reach the door a hand was laid on him like a vise. Christie Johnstone had literally sprung on him. She hated this horrible vice--had often checked him; and now it seemed so awful a moment for such a sin, that she forgot the wild and savage nature of the man, who had struck his own sister, and seriously hurt her, a month before--she saw nothing but the vice and its victim, and she seized him by the collar, with a grasp from which he in vain attempted to shake himself loose. “No! ye'll no gang there at siccan a time.” “Hands off, ye daft jaud,” roared he, “or there'll be another deeth i' the toon.” At the noise Jean Carnie ran in. “Let the ruffian go,” cried she, in dismay. “Oh, Christie, dinna put your hand on a lion's mane.” “Yes, I'll put my hand on his mane, ere I'll let him mak a beast o' himsel'.” “Sandy, if ye hurt her, I'll find twenty lads that will lay ye deed at her feet.” “Haud your whisht,” said Christie, very sharply, “he's no to be threetened.” Sandy Liston, black and white with rage, ground his teeth together, and said, lifting his hand, “Wull ye let me go, or must I tak my hand till ye?” “No!” said Christie, “I'll no let ye go, _sae look me i' the face; Flucker's dochter, your auld comrade, that saved your life at Holy Isle, think o' his face--an' look in mines--an' strike me!!!”_ They glared on one another--he fiercely and unsteadily; she firmly and proudly. Jean Carnie said afterward, “Her eyes were like coals of fire.” “Ye are doing what nae mon i' the toon daur; ye are a bauld, unwise lassy.”