"Mercy on our poor souls!"
"Justice," cried Maule. "Stand out there, Bob Thornton, and answer for
the sins done in the body." The story goes on, and it intercalates "fie,
fie, on man." Thornton stands forth shrieking for the said mercy.
"Was not you, sir, last night, of the time of the past world, in the inn
kept by Sandy Morren, in the town called Bonnie Dundee--bonnie in all
save its sin, and its magistracy gone a-begging, and its
hemp-spinners,[*] and the effect of Sandy Riddoch's reign--drinking and
swearing?"
[note *: There is some prevision here which I cannot explain.]
"I was."
"Then down with you to the pit which has no bottom whatsomever."
And Thornton disappears in the hollow not far from where the brick
Cradle stands.
"Stand forth, Fletcher Read."
"Weren't you, sir, art and part in confining in yonder dungeon the poor
unfortunate black lady, whereby she was murdered by that villain of an
uncle of yours, Fletcher of Lindertes?"
"I was."
"Down with you to the pit and the lake of brimstone."
And down he went into the same valley.
"Stand forth, Dudhope."
"Were not you, sir, seen, on the 21st of December of the late dynasty of
time, in the company of one of these denizens of Rougedom in the
Overgate, that disgrace of the last world, for which it has very
properly been burnt up like a scroll of Sandy Riddoch's peculations?"
"I was.
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