There were deeds of violence and blood to his name, and the look of him
was enough to spoil a man's sleep. He was about six and a half feet
high, with a long, lean head and staring cheek bones. His brows grew
like bushes, and beneath glowed his evil and sunken eyes. I remember
that he had monstrous long arms, which hung almost to his knees, and a
great hairy breast which showed through a rent in his seaman's jerkin.
In that strange place, with the dripping spell of night about me, and
the fire casting weird lights and shadows, he seemed like some devil of
the hills awakened by magic from his ancient grave.
But I saw it was time for me to be speaking up.
"I am neither gangrel, nor spy, nor Amalekite, nor yet am I Zebedee
Linklater. My name is Andrew Garvald, and I have to-day left my home to
make my way to Edinburgh College. I tried a short road in the mist, and
here I am."
"Nay, but what seek ye?" cried Muckle John. "The Lord has led ye to our
company by His own good way. What seek ye? I say again, and yea, a
third time."
"I go to finish my colleging," I said.
He laughed a harsh, croaking laugh. "Little ye ken, young man. We
travel to watch the surprising judgment which is about to overtake the
wicked city of Edinburgh.
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