Chapter 13.9 - Shirley

He solemnly informed me that hell was foreordained my inevitable portion, that he read the mark of the beast on my brow, that I had been an outcast from the beginning. God's vengeance, he said, was preparing for me, and affirmed that, in a vision of the night, he had beheld the manner and the instrument of my doom. I wanted to know further, but he left me with these words. The end is not yet. Have you ever seen him since? About a month afterwards, in returning from market, I encountered him and Moses Baraclough, both in an advanced stage of inebriation. They were praying in a frantic sort at the roadside. They accosted me as Satan, bid me avant, and clamoured to be delivered from temptation. Again, but a few days ago, Michael took the trouble of appearing at the counting-house door, hatless, in his shirt-sleeves, his coat and castor having been detained at the public house in pledge. He delivered himself of the comfortable message that he could wish Mr. Moore to set his house in order, as his soul was likely shortly to be required of him. Do you make light of these things? The poor man had been drinking for weeks, and was in a state bordering on delirium tremens. What then? He is the more likely to attempt the fulfilment of his own prophecies. It would not do to permit incidents of this sort to affect one's nerves. Mr. Moore, go home. So soon? Pass straight down the fields, not round by the lane and plantations. It is early yet. It is late. For my part I am going in. Will you promise me not to wander in the hollow tonight? If you wish it. I do wish it. May I ask whether you consider life valueless?