When James reached the parapet, he could see nothing to account for the
terror and eagerness in Truffey's pale face, nor for his precipitate
flight. But being short-sighted and inquisitive, he set off after
Truffey as fast as the dignity proper to an elderly weaver and a deacon
of the missionars would permit.
As Alec came near the mill he saw two men standing together on the
verge of the brown torrent which separated them from it. They were the
miller--the same whose millstone Curly had broken by shutting down the
sluice--and Thomas Crann, the latest architect employed about the
building. Thomas had been up all night, wandering hither and thither
along the shore of the Wan Water, sorely troubled about Glamerton and
its careless people. Towards morning he had found himself in the town
again, and, crossing the Glamour, had wandered up the side of the
water, and so come upon the sleepless miller contemplating his mill in
the embrace of the torrent.
"Ye maun alloo it's _hard_, Thamas," said the miller.
"_Hard_?" retorted Thomas with indignation. "Hoo daur ye say sic a
thing! Here hae ye been stickin' yer bit water-wheel i' the mids o' ane
o' the Lord's burns, and the Lord has ca'd it roon and roon for you and
yer forbears aboon a hunner yer, and ye've grun' yer breid oot o' 't,
and the breid o' yer bairns, and noo whan it's i' the Lord's gait, and
he maun hae mair room to sen' doon the waters frae his hills, ye
grummle an' compleen at the spate that's been foreordeen't frae the
verra black mirk o' eternity.
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