His hands pawed at my throat, but the horror was descending on him.  He shrieked like a wild beast, and cast fearful eyes behind him.  Then he rushed into the dark corners, stabbing with his knife, crying that the devils were loosed.  I remember how horribly he frothed at the mouth.

“Avaunt,” he howled.  “Avaunt, Mel and Abaddon!  Avaunt, Evil-Merodach and Baal-Jezer!  Ha!  There I had ye, ye muckle goat.  The stink of hell is on ye, but ye shall not take the elect of the Lord.”

He crawled on his belly, stabbing his knife into the ground.  I easily avoided him, for his eyes saw nothing but his terrible phantoms.  Verily Shalah had spoken truth when he said that this man had bodily converse with the devils.

Then I threw him—­quite easily, for his limbs were going limp in the extremity of his horror.  He lay gasping and foaming, his eyes turning back in his head, while I bound his arms to his sides with my belt.  I found some cords in the tent, and tied his legs together.  He moaned miserably for a little, and then was silent.

* * * * *

I think I must have sat by him for three hours.  The world was very still, and the moon set, and the only light was the flickering lamp.  Once or twice I heard a rustle by the tent door.  Some Indian guard was on the watch, but I knew that no Indian dared to cross the forbidden circle.

I had no thoughts, being oppressed with a great stupor of weariness.  I may have dozed a little, but the pain of my legs kept me from slumbering.

Once or twice I looked at him, and I noticed that the madness had gone out of his face, and that he was sleeping peacefully.  I wiped the froth from his lips, and his forehead was cool to my touch.

By and by, as I held the lamp close, I observed that his eyes were open.  It was now time for the gamble I had resolved on.  I remembered that morning in the Tolbooth, and how the madness had passed, leaving him a simple soul.  I unstrapped the belt, and cut the cords about his legs.

“Do you feel better now, Mr. Gib?” I asked, as if it were the most ordinary question in the world.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes.  “Was it a dwam?” he inquired.  “I get them whiles.”

“It was a dwam, but I think it has passed.”

He still rubbed his eyes, and peered about him, like a big collie dog that has lost its master.

“Who is it that speirs?” he said.  “I ken the voice, but I havena heard it this long time.”

“One who is well acquaint with Borrowstoneness and the links of Forth,” said I.

I spoke in the accent of his own country-side, and it must have woke some dim chord in his memory, I made haste to strike while the iron was hot.

“There was a woman at Cramond...”  I began.

He got to his feet and looked me in the face.  “Ay, there was,” he said, with an odd note in his voice.  “What about her?” I could see that his hand was shaking.