No more could he sit
there; for if he sat, the people would sit too. Something must be done,
and there was nobody to do anything. He must get out and then the
people would go home. But how could he escape? He durst not go down
that pulpit stair in the sight of the congregation.--He cared no more
for his vanished reputation. His only thought was how to get out.
Meantime the congregation was variously affected. Some held down their
heads and laughed immoderately. These were mostly of Mr Malison's
scholars, the fine edge of whose nature, if it ever had any, had
vanished under the rasp of his tortures. Even Alec, who, with others of
the assembly, held down his head from sympathetic shame, could not help
remembering how the master had made Annie Anderson stand upon the form,
and believing for the time in a general retribution in kind.
Andrew Truffey was crying bitterly. His sobs were heard through the
church, and some took them for the sobs of Murdoch Malison, who had
shrunk into the pulpit like a snail into its shell, so that not an atom
of his form was to be seen except from the side-galleries. The maiden
daughter of the late schoolmaster gave a shriek, and went into a small
fit; after which an awful, quite sepulchral silence reigned for a few
moments, broken only by those quivering sobs from Truffey, whom his
grandfather was feebly and ineffectually shaking.
Pages:
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485