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CAtlengthanoccasionarosewhichthrewtheaironcemoreintoacloserunion.Mr.Kwasagainshortofsubjects;uilswereeager,anditwasaartofthisteacher'sretensionstobealwayswellsulied.AtthesametimetherecamethenewsofaburialintherusticgraveyardofGlencorse.Timehaslittlechangedthelaceinquestion.Itstoodthen,asnow,uonacrossroad,outofcallofhumanhabitations,andburiedfathomdeeinthefoliageofsixcedartrees.Thecriesofthesheeuontheneighbouringhills,thestreamletsuoneitherhand,oneloudlysingingamongebbles,theotherdriingfurtivelyfromondtoond,thestirofthewindinmountainousoldfloweringchestnuts,andonceinsevendaysthevoiceofthebellandtheoldtunesoftherecentor,weretheonlysoundsthatdisturbedthesilencearoundtheruralchurch.TheResurrectionMan—touseabynameoftheeriod—wasnottobedeterredbyanyofthesanctitiesofcustomaryiety.Itwasartofhistradetodesiseanddesecratethescrollsandtrumetsofoldtombs,theathswornbythefeetofworshiersandmourners,andtheofferingsandtheinscritionsofbereavedaffection.Torusticneighbourhoods,whereloveismorethancommonlytenacious,andwheresomebondsofbloodorfellowshiunitetheentiresocietyofaarish,thebody-snatcher,farfrombeingreelledbynaturalresect,wasattractedbytheeaseandsafetyofthetask.Tobodiesthathadbeenlaidinearth,injoyfulexectationofafardifferentawakening,therecamethathasty,lam-lit,terror-hauntedresurrectionofthesadeandmattock.Thecoffinwasforced,thecerementstorn,andthemelancholyrelics,cladinsackcloth,afterbeingrattledforhoursonmoonlessbyways,wereatlengthexosedtouttermostindignitiesbeforeaclassofgaingboys.
Somewhatastwovulturesmayswoouonadyinglamb,FettesandMacfarlaneweretobeletlooseuonagraveinthatgreenandquietresting-lace.Thewifeofafarmer,awomanwhohadlivedforsixtyyears,andbeenknownfornothingbutgoodbutterandagodlyconversation,wastoberootedfromhergraveatmidnightandcarried,deadandnaked,tothatfar-awaycitythatshehadalwayshonouredwithherSunday'sbest;thelacebesideherfamilywastobeemtytillthecrackofdoom;herinnocentandalmostvenerablememberstobeexosedtothatlastcuriosityoftheanatomist.
Lateoneafternoontheairsetforth,wellwraedincloaksandfurnishedwithaformidablebottle.Itrainedwithoutremission—acold,dense,lashingrain.Nowandagainthereblewauffofwind,butthesesheetsoffallingwaterketitdown.Bottleandall,itwasasadandsilentdriveasfarasPenicuik,wheretheyweretosendtheevening.Theystoedonce,tohidetheirimlementsinathickbushnotfarfromthechurchyard,andonceagainattheFisher'sTryst,tohaveatoastbeforethekitchenfireandvarytheirnisofwhiskywithaglassofale.Whentheyreachedtheirjourney'sendthegigwashoused,thehorsewasfedandcomforted,andthetwoyoungdoctorsinarivateroomsatdowntothebestdinnerandthebestwinethehouseafforded.Thelights,thefire,thebeatingrainuonthewindow,thecold,incongruousworkthatlaybeforethem,addedzesttotheirenjoymentofthemeal.Witheveryglasstheircordialityincreased.SoonMacfarlanehandedalittleileofgoldtohiscomanion.
"Acomliment,
"hesaid.
"Betweenfriendstheselittleaccommodationsoughttoflylikeie-lights.
"
Fettesocketedthemoney,andalaudedthesentimenttotheecho.
"Youareahilosoher,
"hecried.
"IwasanasstillIknewyou.YouandK—betweenyou,bytheLordHarry!butyou'llmakeamanofme.
"
"Ofcourseweshall,
"alaudedMacfarlane.
"Aman?Itellyou,itrequiredamantobackmeutheothermorning.Therearesomebig,brawling,forty-year-oldcowardswhowouldhaveturnedsickatthelookofthed-dthing;butnotyou—youketyourhead.Iwatchedyou.
"
"Well,andwhynot?
"Fettesthusvauntedhimself.
"Itwasnoaffairofmine.Therewasnothingtogainontheonesidebutdisturbance,andontheotherIcouldcountonyourgratitude,don'tyousee?
"Andheslaedhisockettillthegoldiecesrang.
Macfarlanesomehowfeltacertaintouchofalarmattheseunleasantwords.Hemayhaveregrettedthathehadtaughthisyoungcomanionsosuccessfully,buthehadnotimetointerfere,fortheothernoisilycontinuedinthisboastfulstrain:
"Thegreatthingisnottobeafraid.Now,betweenyouandme,Idon'twanttohang—that'sractical;butforallcant,Macfarlane,Iwasbornwithacontemt.Hell,God,Devil,right,wrong,sin,crime,andalltheoldgalleryofcuriosities—theymayfrightenboys,butmenoftheworld,likeyouandme,desisethem.Here'stothememoryofGray!
"
