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diff --git a/33901.txt b/33901.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..53b1c97 --- /dev/null +++ b/33901.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14398 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little Minister, by J. M. Barrie + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Little Minister + +Author: J. M. Barrie + +Illustrator: C. Allen Gilbert + +Release Date: October 29, 2010 [EBook #33901] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE MINISTER *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Katherine Ward, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +The Little Minister + +_By_ + +J. M. BARRIE + +Maude Adams Edition + + + NEW YORK + R. H. RUSSELL: Publisher + 1898 + + Copyright 1891 and 1895 + By UNITED STATES BOOK CO. + + Copyright 1898 + By ROBERT HOWARD RUSSELL + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + I. The Love-Light. 1 + II. Runs Alongside the Making of a Minister. 7 + III. The Night-Watchers. 17 + IV. First Coming of the Egyptian Woman. 30 + V. A Warlike Chapter, Culminating in the Flouting of the + Minister by the Woman. 42 + VI. In Which the Soldiers Meet the Amazons of Thrums. 50 + VII. Has the Folly of Looking into a Woman's Eyes by way + of Text. 62 + VIII. 3 A.M.--Monstrous Audacity of the Woman. 69 + IX. The Woman Considered in Absence--Adventures of a + Military Cloak. 79 + X. First Sermon Against Women. 89 + XI. Tells in a Whisper of Man's Fall During the Curling + Season. 100 + XII. Tragedy of a Mud House. 110 + XIII. Second Coming of the Egyptian Woman. 117 + XIV. The Minister Dances to the Woman's Piping. 125 + XV. The Minister Bewitched--Second Sermon against Women. 135 + XVI. Continued Misbehaviour of the Egyptian Woman. 143 + XVII. Intrusion of Haggart into These Pages against the + Author's Wish. 151 + XVIII. Caddam--Love Leading to a Rupture. 161 + XIX. Circumstances Leading to the First Sermon in Approval + of Women. 169 + XX. End of the State of Indecision. 177 + XXI. Night--Margaret--Flashing of a Lantern. 186 + XXII. Lovers. 196 + XXIII. Contains a Birth, Which is Sufficient for One + Chapter. 205 + XXIV. The New World, and the Woman Who May Not Dwell + Therein. 211 + XXV. Beginning of the Twenty-Four Hours. 217 + XXVI. Scene at the Spittal. 225 + XXVII. First Journey of the Dominie to Thrums During the + Twenty-Four Hours. 232 + XXVIII. The Hill before Darkness Fell--Scene of the Impending + Catastrophe. 237 + XXIX. Story of the Egyptian. 244 + XXX. The Meeting for Rain. 252 + XXXI. Various Bodies Converging on the Hill. 259 + XXXII. Leading Swiftly to the Appalling Marriage. 268 + XXXIII. While the Ten O'Clock Bell Was Ringing. 274 + XXXIV. The Great Rain. 281 + XXXV. The Glen at Break of Day. 285 + XXXVI. Story of the Dominie. 299 + XXXVII. Second Journey of the Dominie to Thrums During the + Twenty-Four Hours. 308 + XXXVIII. Thrums during the Twenty-Four Hours--Defence of the + Manse. 315 + XXXIX. How Babbie Spent the Night of August Fourth. 324 + XL. Babbie and Margaret--Defence of the Manse Continued. 330 + XLI. Rintoul and Babbie--Breakdown of the Defence of the + Manse. 337 + XLII. Margaret, the Precentor, and God Between. 345 + XLIII. Rain--Mist--The Jaws. 353 + XLIV. End of the Twenty-Four Hours. 363 + XLV. Talk of a Little Maid Since Grown Tall. 369 + + +[Illustration: "I'LL GI'E YOU MY RABBIT," MICAH SAID, "IF YOU'LL GANG +AWA'."--PAGE 215.] + + + + +NOTE + + +The illustrations in this book have been made especially for this +edition of The Little Minister by arrangement with Mr. Charles +Frohman, through whose courtesy they are here reproduced. Many of them +were drawn by C. Allen Gilbert, while others are from photographs +which appear here for the first time. + + + + +Chapter One. + +THE LOVE-LIGHT. + + +Long ago, in the days when our caged blackbirds never saw a king's +soldier without whistling impudently, "Come ower the water to +Charlie," a minister of Thrums was to be married, but something +happened, and he remained a bachelor. Then, when he was old, he passed +in our square the lady who was to have been his wife, and her hair was +white, but she, too, was still unmarried. The meeting had only one +witness, a weaver, and he said solemnly afterwards, "They didna speak, +but they just gave one another a look, and I saw the love-light in +their een." No more is remembered of these two, no being now living +ever saw them, but the poetry that was in the soul of a battered +weaver makes them human to us for ever. + +It is of another minister I am to tell, but only to those who know +that light when they see it. I am not bidding good-bye to many +readers, for though it is true that some men, of whom Lord Rintoul was +one, live to an old age without knowing love, few of us can have met +them, and of women so incomplete I never heard. + +Gavin Dishart was barely twenty-one when he and his mother came to +Thrums, light-hearted like the traveller who knows not what awaits him +at the bend of the road. It was the time of year when the ground is +carpeted beneath the firs with brown needles, when split-nuts patter +all day from the beech, and children lay yellow corn on the dominie's +desk to remind him that now they are needed in the fields. The day was +so silent that carts could be heard rumbling a mile away. All Thrums +was out in its wynds and closes--a few of the weavers still in +knee-breeches--to look at the new Auld Licht minister. I was there +too, the dominie of Glen Quharity, which is four miles from Thrums; +and heavy was my heart as I stood afar off so that Gavin's mother +might not have the pain of seeing me. I was the only one in the crowd +who looked at her more than at her son. + +Eighteen years had passed since we parted. Already her hair had lost +the brightness of its youth, and she seemed to me smaller and more +fragile; and the face that I loved when I was a hobbledehoy, and loved +when I looked once more upon it in Thrums, and always shall love till +I die, was soft and worn. Margaret was an old woman, and she was only +forty-three; and I am the man who made her old. As Gavin put his eager +boyish face out at the carriage window, many saw that he was holding +her hand, but none could be glad at the sight as the dominie was glad, +looking on at a happiness in which he dared not mingle. Margaret was +crying because she was so proud of her boy. Women do that. Poor sons +to be proud of, good mothers, but I would not have you dry those +tears. + +[Illustration: A STREET IN THRUMS.] + +When the little minister looked out at the carriage window, many of +the people drew back humbly, but a little boy in a red frock with +black spots pressed forward and offered him a sticky parly, which +Gavin accepted, though not without a tremor, for children were more +terrible to him then than bearded men. The boy's mother, trying not to +look elated, bore him away, but her face said that he was made for +life. With this little incident Gavin's career in Thrums began. I +remembered it suddenly the other day when wading across the wynd where +it took place. Many scenes in the little minister's life come back to +me in this way. The first time I ever thought of writing his love +story as an old man's gift to a little maid since grown tall, was one +night while I sat alone in the school-house; on my knees a fiddle that +has been my only living companion since I sold my hens. My mind had +drifted back to the first time I saw Gavin and the Egyptian together, +and what set it wandering to that midnight meeting was my garden gate +shaking in the wind. At a gate on the hill I had first encountered +these two. It rattled in his hand, and I looked up and saw them, and +neither knew why I had such cause to start at the sight. Then the gate +swung to. It had just such a click as mine. + +These two figures on the hill are more real to me than things that +happened yesterday, but I do not know that I can make them live to +others. A ghost-show used to come yearly to Thrums on the merry Muckle +Friday, in which the illusion was contrived by hanging a glass between +the onlookers and the stage. I cannot deny that the comings and goings +of the ghost were highly diverting, yet the farmer of T'nowhead only +laughed because he had paid his money at the hole in the door like the +rest of us. T'nowhead sat at the end of a form where he saw round the +glass and so saw no ghost. I fear my public may be in the same +predicament. I see the little minister as he was at one-and-twenty, +and the little girl to whom this story is to belong sees him, though +the things I have to tell happened before she came into the world. But +there are reasons why she should see; and I do not know that I can +provide the glass for others. If they see round it, they will neither +laugh nor cry with Gavin and Babbie. + +When Gavin came to Thrums he was as I am now, for the pages lay before +him on which he was to write his life. Yet he was not quite as I am. +The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, +and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the +volume as it is with what he vowed to make it. But the biographer sees +the last chapter while he is still at the first, and I have only to +write over with ink what Gavin has written in pencil. + +How often is it a phantom woman who draws the man from the way he +meant to go? So was man created, to hunger for the ideal that is above +himself, until one day there is magic in the air, and the eyes of a +girl rest upon him. He does not know that it is he himself who crowned +her, and if the girl is as pure as he, their love is the one form of +idolatry that is not quite ignoble. It is the joining of two souls on +their way to God. But if the woman be bad, the test of the man is when +he wakens from his dream. The nobler his ideal, the further will he +have been hurried down the wrong way, for those who only run after +little things will not go far. His love may now sink into passion, +perhaps only to stain its wings and rise again, perhaps to drown. + +Babbie, what shall I say of you who make me write these things? I am +not your judge. Shall we not laugh at the student who chafes when +between him and his book comes the song of the thrushes, with whom, on +the mad night you danced into Gavin's life, you had more in common +than with Auld Licht ministers? The gladness of living was in your +step, your voice was melody, and he was wondering what love might be. + +[Illustration: "BABBIE."] + +You were the daughter of a summer night, born where all the birds are +free, and the moon christened you with her soft light to dazzle the +eyes of man. Not our little minister alone was stricken by you into +his second childhood. To look upon you was to rejoice that so fair a +thing could be; to think of you is still to be young. Even those who +called you a little devil, of whom I have been one, admitted that +in the end you had a soul, though not that you had been born with one. +They said you stole it, and so made a woman of yourself. But again I +say I am not your judge, and when I picture you as Gavin saw you +first, a bare-legged witch dancing up Windyghoul, rowan berries in +your black hair, and on your finger a jewel the little minister could +not have bought with five years of toil, the shadows on my pages lift, +and I cannot wonder that Gavin loved you. + +Often I say to myself that this is to be Gavin's story, not mine. +Yet must it be mine too, in a manner, and of myself I shall +sometimes have to speak; not willingly, for it is time my little +tragedy had died of old age. I have kept it to myself so long that +now I would stand at its grave alone. It is true that when I heard +who was to be the new minister I hoped for a day that the life broken +in Harvie might be mended in Thrums, but two minutes' talk with Gavin +showed me that Margaret had kept from him the secret which was hers +and mine, and so knocked the bottom out of my vain hopes. I did +not blame her then, nor do I blame her now, nor shall any one who +blames her ever be called friend by me; but it was bitter to look at +the white manse among the trees and know that I must never enter it. +For Margaret's sake I had to keep aloof, yet this new trial came +upon me like our parting at Harvie. I thought that in those eighteen +years my passions had burned like a ship till they sank, but I +suffered again as on that awful night when Adam Dishart came back, +nearly killing Margaret and tearing up all my ambitions by the +root in a single hour. I waited in Thrums until I had looked again +on Margaret, who thought me dead, and Gavin, who had never heard +of me, and then I trudged back to the school-house. Something I +heard of them from time to time during the winter--for in the +gossip of Thrums I was well posted--but much of what is to be told +here I only learned afterwards from those who knew it best. Gavin +heard of me at times as the dominie in the glen who had ceased to +attend the Auld Licht kirk, and Margaret did not even hear of me. It +was all I could do for them. + + + + +Chapter Two. + +RUNS ALONGSIDE THE MAKING OF A MINISTER. + + +On the east coast of Scotland, hidden, as if in a quarry, at the foot +of cliffs that may one day fall forward, is a village called Harvie. +So has it shrunk since the day when I skulked from it that I hear of a +traveller's asking lately at one of its doors how far he was from a +village; yet Harvie throve once and was celebrated even in distant +Thrums for its fish. Most of our weavers would have thought it as +unnatural not to buy harvies in the square on the Muckle Friday, as to +let Saturday night pass without laying in a sufficient stock of +halfpennies to go round the family twice. + +Gavin was born in Harvie, but left it at such an early age that he +could only recall thatched houses with nets drying on the roofs, and a +sandy shore in which coarse grass grew. In the picture he could not +pick out the house of his birth, though he might have been able to go +to it had he ever returned to the village. Soon he learned that his +mother did not care to speak of Harvie, and perhaps he thought that +she had forgotten it too, all save one scene to which his memory still +guided him. When his mind wandered to Harvie, Gavin saw the door of +his home open and a fisherman enter, who scratched his head and then +said, "Your man's drowned, missis." Gavin seemed to see many women +crying, and his mother staring at them with a face suddenly painted +white, and next to hear a voice that was his own saying, "Never mind, +mother; I'll be a man to you now, and I'll need breeks for the +burial." But Adam required no funeral, for his body lay deep in the +sea. + +Gavin thought that this was the tragedy of his mother's life, and the +most memorable event of his own childhood. But it was neither. When +Margaret, even after she came to Thrums, thought of Harvie, it was not +at Adam's death she shuddered, but at the recollection of me. + +It would ill become me to take a late revenge on Adam Dishart now by +saying what is not true of him. Though he died a fisherman he was a +sailor for a great part of his life, and doubtless his recklessness +was washed into him on the high seas, where in his time men made a +crony of death, and drank merrily over dodging it for another night. +To me his roars of laughter without cause were as repellent as a boy's +drum; yet many faces that were long in my company brightened at his +coming, and women, with whom, despite my yearning, I was in no wise a +favorite, ran to their doors to listen to him as readily as to the +bell-man. Children scurried from him if his mood was savage, but to +him at all other times, while me they merely disregarded. There was +always a smell of the sea about him. He had a rolling gait, unless he +was drunk, when he walked very straight, and before both sexes he +boasted that any woman would take him for his beard alone. Of this +beard he took prodigious care, though otherwise thinking little of his +appearance, and I now see that he understood women better than I did, +who had nevertheless reflected much about them. It cannot be said that +he was vain, for though he thought he attracted women strangely, that, +I maintain, is a weakness common to all men, and so no more to be +marvelled at than a stake in a fence. Foreign oaths were the nails +with which he held his talk together, yet I doubt not they were a +curiosity gathered at sea, like his chains of shells, more for his own +pleasure than for others' pain. His friends gave them no weight, and +when he wanted to talk emphatically he kept them back, though they +were then as troublesome to him as eggs to the bird-nesting boy who +has to speak with his spoil in his mouth. + +Adam was drowned on Gavin's fourth birthday, a year after I had to +leave Harvie. He was blown off his smack in a storm, and could not +reach the rope his partner flung him. "It's no go, lad," he shouted; +"so long, Jim," and sank. + +A month afterwards Margaret sold her share in the smack, which was all +Adam left her, and the furniture of the house was rouped. She took +Gavin to Glasgow, where her only brother needed a housekeeper, and +there mother and son remained until Gavin got his call to Thrums. +During those seventeen years I lost knowledge of them as completely as +Margaret had lost knowledge of me. On hearing of Adam's death I went +back to Harvie to try to trace her, but she had feared this, and so +told no one where she was going. + +According to Margaret, Gavin's genius showed itself while he was still +a child. He was born with a brow whose nobility impressed her from the +first. It was a minister's brow, and though Margaret herself was no +scholar, being as slow to read as she was quick at turning bannocks on +the girdle, she decided, when his age was still counted by months, +that the ministry had need of him. In those days the first question +asked of a child was not, "Tell me your name," but "What are you to +be?" and one child in every family replied, "A minister." He was set +apart for the Church as doggedly as the shilling a week for the rent, +and the rule held good though the family consisted of only one boy. +From his earliest days Gavin thought he had been fashioned for the +ministry as certainly as a spade for digging, and Margaret rejoiced +and marvelled thereat, though she had made her own puzzle. An +enthusiastic mother may bend her son's mind as she chooses if she +begins at once; nay, she may do stranger things. I know a mother in +Thrums who loves "features," and had a child born with no chin to +speak of. The neighbors expected this to bring her to the dust, but it +only showed what a mother can do. In a few months that child had a +chin with the best of them. + +Margaret's brother died, but she remained in his single room, and, +ever with a picture of her son in a pulpit to repay her, contrived to +keep Gavin at school. Everything a woman's fingers can do Margaret's +did better than most, and among the wealthy people who employed +her--would that I could have the teaching of the sons of such as were +good to her in those hard days!--her gentle manner was spoken of. For +though Margaret had no schooling, she was a lady at heart, moving and +almost speaking as one even in Harvie, where they did not perhaps like +her the better for it. + +At six Gavin hit another boy hard for belonging to the Established +Church, and at seven he could not lose himself in the Shorter +Catechism. His mother expounded the Scriptures to him till he was +eight, when he began to expound them to her. By this time he was +studying the practical work of the pulpit as enthusiastically as ever +medical student cut off a leg. From a front pew in the gallery Gavin +watched the minister's every movement, noting that the first thing to +do on ascending the pulpit is to cover your face with your hands, as +if the exalted position affected you like a strong light, and the +second to move the big Bible slightly, to show that the kirk officer, +not having had a university education, could not be expected to know +the very spot on which it ought to lie. Gavin saw that the minister +joined in the singing more like one countenancing a seemly thing than +because he needed it himself, and that he only sang a mouthful now and +again after the congregation was in full pursuit of the precentor. It +was noteworthy that the first prayer lasted longer than all the +others, and that to read the intimations about the Bible-class and the +collection elsewhere than immediately before the last Psalm would have +been as sacrilegious as to insert the dedication to King James at the +end of Revelation. Sitting under a minister justly honoured in his +day, the boy was often some words in advance of him, not vainglorious +of his memory, but fervent, eager, and regarding the preacher as +hardly less sacred than the Book. Gavin was encouraged by his +frightened yet admiring mother to saw the air from their pew as the +minister sawed it in the pulpit, and two benedictions were pronounced +twice a Sabbath in that church, in the same words, the same manner, +and simultaneously. + +There was a black year when the things of this world, especially its +pastimes, took such a grip of Gavin that he said to Margaret he would +rather be good at the high jump than the author of "The Pilgrim's +Progress." That year passed, and Gavin came to his right mind. One +afternoon Margaret was at home making a glengarry for him out of a +piece of carpet, and giving it a tartan edging, when the boy bounded +in from school, crying, "Come quick, mother, and you'll see him." +Margaret reached the door in time to see a street musician flying from +Gavin and his friends. "Did you take stock of him, mother?" the boy +asked when he reappeared with the mark of a muddy stick on his back. +"He's a Papist!--a sore sight, mother, a sore sight. We stoned him for +persecuting the noble Martyrs." + +When Gavin was twelve he went to the university, and also got a place +in a shop as errand boy. He used to run through the streets between +his work and his classes. Potatoes and salt fish, which could then be +got at two pence the pound if bought by the half-hundred weight, were +his food. There was not always a good meal for two, yet when Gavin +reached home at night there was generally something ready for him, +and Margaret had supped "hours ago." Gavin's hunger urged him to fall +to, but his love for his mother made him watchful. + +"What did you have yourself, mother?" he would demand suspiciously. + +"Oh, I had a fine supper, I assure you." + +"What had you?" + +"I had potatoes, for one thing." + +"And dripping?" + +"You may be sure." + +"Mother, you're cheating me. The dripping hasn't been touched since +yesterday." + +"I dinna--don't--care for dripping--no much." + +Then would Gavin stride the room fiercely, a queer little figure. + +"Do you think I'll stand this, mother? Will I let myself be pampered +with dripping and every delicacy while you starve?" + +"Gavin, I really dinna care for dripping." + +"Then I'll give up my classes, and we can have butter." + +"I assure you I'm no hungry. It's different wi' a growing laddie." + +"I'm not a growing laddie," Gavin would say, bitterly; "but, mother, I +warn you that not another bite passes my throat till I see you eating +too." + +So Margaret had to take her seat at the table, and when she said "I +can eat no more," Gavin retorted sternly, "Nor will I, for fine I see +through you." + +These two were as one far more than most married people, and, just as +Gavin in his childhood reflected his mother, she now reflected him. +The people for whom she sewed thought it was contact with them that +had rubbed the broad Scotch from her tongue, but she was only keeping +pace with Gavin. When she was excited the Harvie words came back to +her, as they come back to me. I have taught the English language all +my life, and I try to write it, but everything I say in this book I +first think to myself in the Doric. This, too, I notice, that in +talking to myself I am broader than when gossiping with the farmers of +the glen, who send their children to me to learn English, and then +jeer at them if they say "old lights" instead of "auld lichts." + +To Margaret it was happiness to sit through the long evenings sewing, +and look over her work at Gavin as he read or wrote or recited to +himself the learning of the schools. But she coughed every time the +weather changed, and then Gavin would start. + +"You must go to your bed, mother," he would say, tearing himself from +his books; or he would sit beside her and talk of the dream that was +common to both--a dream of a manse where Margaret was mistress and +Gavin was called the minister. Every night Gavin was at his mother's +bedside to wind her shawl round her feet, and while he did it Margaret +smiled. + +"Mother, this is the chaff pillow you've taken out of my bed, and +given me your feather one." + +"Gavin, you needna change them. I winna have the feather pillow." + +"Do you dare to think I'll let you sleep on chaff? Put up your head. +Now, is that soft?" + +"It's fine. I dinna deny but what I sleep better on feathers. Do you +mind, Gavin, you bought this pillow for me the moment you got your +bursary money?" + +The reserve that is a wall between many of the Scottish poor had been +broken down by these two. When he saw his mother sleeping happily, +Gavin went back to his work. To save the expense of a lamp, he would +put his book almost beneath the dying fire, and, taking the place of +the fender, read till he was shivering with cold. + +"Gavin, it is near morning, and you not in your bed yet! What are you +thinking about so hard?" + +"Oh, mother, I was wondering if the time would ever come when I would +be a minister, and you would have an egg for your breakfast every +morning." + +So the years passed, and soon Gavin would be a minister. He had now +sermons to prepare, and every one of them was first preached to +Margaret. How solemn was his voice, how his eyes flashed, how stern +were his admonitions. + +"Gavin, such a sermon I never heard. The spirit of God is on you. I'm +ashamed you should have me for a mother." + +"God grant, mother," Gavin said, little thinking what was soon to +happen, or he would have made this prayer on his knees, "that you may +never be ashamed to have me for a son." + +"Ah, mother," he would say wistfully, "it is not a great sermon, but +do you think I'm preaching Christ? That is what I try, but I'm carried +away and forget to watch myself." + +"The Lord has you by the hand, Gavin; and mind, I dinna say that +because you're my laddie." + +"Yes, you do, mother, and well I know it, and yet it does me good to +hear you." + +That it did him good I, who would fain have shared those days with +them, am very sure. The praise that comes of love does not make us +vain, but humble rather. Knowing what we are, the pride that shines in +our mother's eyes as she looks at us is about the most pathetic thing +a man has to face, but he would be a devil altogether if it did not +burn some of the sin out of him. + +Not long before Gavin preached for our kirk and got his call, a great +event took place in the little room at Glasgow. The student appeared +for the first time before his mother in his ministerial clothes. He +wore the black silk hat, that was destined to become a terror to +evil-doers in Thrums, and I dare say he was rather puffed up about +himself that day. You would probably have smiled at him. + +"It's a pity I'm so little, mother," he said with a sigh. + +"You're no what I would call a particularly long man," Margaret said, +"but you're just the height I like." + +Then Gavin went out in his grandeur, and Margaret cried for an hour. +She was thinking of me as well as of Gavin, and as it happens, I know +that I was thinking at the same time of her. Gavin kept a diary in +those days, which I have seen, and by comparing it with mine, I +discovered that while he was showing himself to his mother in his +black clothes, I was on my way back from Tilliedrum, where I had gone +to buy a sand-glass for the school. The one I bought was so like +another Margaret had used at Harvie that it set me thinking of her +again all the way home. This is a matter hardly worth mentioning, and +yet it interests me. + +Busy days followed the call to Thrums, and Gavin had difficulty in +forcing himself to his sermons when there was always something more to +tell his mother about the weaving town they were going to, or about +the manse or the furniture that had been transferred to him by the +retiring minister. The little room which had become so familiar that +it seemed one of a family party of three had to be stripped, and many +of its contents were sold. Among what were brought to Thrums was a +little exercise book, in which Margaret had tried, unknown to Gavin, +to teach herself writing and grammar, that she might be less unfit for +a manse. He found it accidentally one day. It was full of "I am, thou +art, he is," and the like, written many times in a shaking hand. Gavin +put his arms round his mother when he saw what she had been doing. The +exercise book is in my desk now, and will be my little maid's when I +die. + +"Gavin, Gavin," Margaret said many times in those last days at +Glasgow, "to think it has all come true!" + +"Let the last word you say in the house be a prayer of thankfulness," +she whispered to him when they were taking a final glance at the old +home. + +In the bare room they called the house, the little minister and his +mother went on their knees, but, as it chanced, their last word there +was not addressed to God. + +"Gavin," Margaret whispered as he took her arm, "do you think this +bonnet sets me?" + + + + +Chapter Three. + +THE NIGHT-WATCHERS. + + +What first struck Margaret in Thrums was the smell of the caddis. The +town smells of caddis no longer, but whiffs of it may be got even now +as one passes the houses of the old, where the lay still swings at +little windows like a great ghost pendulum. To me it is a homely +smell, which I draw in with a great breath, but it was as strange to +Margaret as the weavers themselves, who, in their colored nightcaps +and corduroys streaked with threads, gazed at her and Gavin. The +little minister was trying to look severe and old, but twenty-one was +in his eye. + +"Look, mother, at that white house with the green roof. That is the +manse." + +The manse stands high, with a sharp eye on all the town. Every back +window in the Tenements has a glint of it, and so the back of the +Tenements is always better behaved than the front. It was in the front +that Jamie Don, a pitiful bachelor all his life because he thought the +women proposed, kept his ferrets, and here, too, Beattie hanged +himself, going straight to the clothes-posts for another rope when the +first one broke, such was his determination. In the front Sanders +Gilruth openly boasted (on Don's potato-pit) that by having a seat in +two churches he could lie in bed on Sabbath and get the credit of +being at one or other. (Gavin made short work of him.) To the +right-minded the Auld Licht manse was as a family Bible, ever lying +open before them, but Beattie spoke for more than himself when he +said, "Dagone that manse! I never gie a swear but there it is +glowering at me." + +The manse looks down on the town from the north-east, and is reached +from the road that leaves Thrums behind it in another moment by a +wide, straight path, so rough that to carry a fraught of water to the +manse without spilling was to be superlatively good at one thing. +Packages in a cart it set leaping like trout in a fishing-creel. +Opposite the opening of the garden wall in the manse, where for many +years there had been an intention of putting up a gate, were two big +stones a yard apart, standing ready for the winter, when the path was +often a rush of yellow water, and this the only bridge to the glebe +dyke, down which the minister walked to church. + +When Margaret entered the manse on Gavin's arm, it was a whitewashed +house of five rooms, with a garret in which the minister could sleep +if he had guests, as during the Fast week. It stood with its garden +within high walls, and the roof facing southward was carpeted with +moss that shone in the sun in a dozen shades of green and yellow. +Three firs guarded the house from west winds, but blasts from the +north often tore down the steep fields and skirled through the manse, +banging all its doors at once. A beech, growing on the east side, +leant over the roof as if to gossip with the well in the courtyard. +The garden was to the south, and was over full of gooseberry and +currant bushes. It contained a summer seat, where strange things were +soon to happen. + +Margaret would not even take off her bonnet until she had seen through +the manse and opened all the presses. The parlour and kitchen were +downstairs, and of the three rooms above, the study was so small that +Gavin's predecessor could touch each of its walls without shifting his +position. Every room save Margaret's had long-lidded beds, which close +as if with shutters, but hers was coff-fronted, or comparatively +open, with carving on the wood like the ornamentation of coffins. +Where there were children in a house they liked to slope the boards of +the closed-in bed against the dresser, and play at sliding down +mountains on them. + +But for many years there had been no children in the manse. He in +whose ways Gavin was to attempt the heavy task of walking had been a +widower three months after his marriage, a man narrow when he came to +Thrums, but so large-hearted when he left it that I, who know there is +good in all the world because of the lovable souls I have met in this +corner of it, yet cannot hope that many are as near to God as he. The +most gladsome thing in the world is that few of us fall very low; the +saddest that, with such capabilities, we seldom rise high. Of those +who stand perceptibly above their fellows I have known very few; only +Mr. Carfrae and two or three women. + +Gavin only saw a very frail old minister who shook as he walked, as if +his feet were striking against stones. He was to depart on the morrow +to the place of his birth, but he came to the manse to wish his +successor God-speed. Strangers were so formidable to Margaret that she +only saw him from her window. + +"May you never lose sight of God, Mr. Dishart," the old man said in +the parlour. Then he added, as if he had asked too much, "May you +never turn from Him as I often did when I was a lad like you." + +As this aged minister, with the beautiful face that God gives to all +who love Him and follow His commandments, spoke of his youth, he +looked wistfully around the faded parlour. + +"It is like a dream," he said. "The first time I entered this room the +thought passed through me that I would cut down that cherry-tree, +because it kept out the light, but, you see, it outlives me. I grew +old while looking for the axe. Only yesterday I was the young +minister, Mr. Dishart, and to-morrow you will be the old one, bidding +good-bye to your successor." + +His eyes came back to Gavin's eager face. + +"You are very young, Mr. Dishart?" + +"Nearly twenty-one." + +"Twenty-one! Ah, my dear sir, you do not know how pathetic that sounds +to me. Twenty-one! We are children for the second time at twenty-one, +and again when we are grey and put all our burden on the Lord. The +young talk generously of relieving the old of their burdens, but the +anxious heart is to the old when they see a load on the back of the +young. Let me tell you, Mr. Dishart, that I would condone many things +in one-and-twenty now that I dealt hardly with at middle age. God +Himself, I think, is very willing to give one-and-twenty a second +chance." + +"I am afraid," Gavin said anxiously, "that I look even younger." + +"I think," Mr. Carfrae answered, smiling, "that your heart is as fresh +as your face; and that is well. The useless men are those who never +change with the years. Many views that I held to in my youth and long +afterwards are a pain to me now, and I am carrying away from Thrums +memories of errors into which I fell at every stage of my ministry. +When you are older you will know that life is a long lesson in +humility." + +He paused. + +"I hope," he said nervously, "that you don't sing the Paraphrases?" + +Mr. Carfrae had not grown out of all his prejudices, you see; indeed, +if Gavin had been less bigoted than he on this question they might +have parted stiffly. The old minister would rather have remained to +die in his pulpit than surrender it to one who read his sermons. +Others may blame him for this, but I must say here plainly that I +never hear a minister reading without wishing to send him back to +college. + +"I cannot deny," Mr. Carfrae said, "that I broke down more than once +to-day. This forenoon I was in Tillyloss, for the last time, and it +so happens that there is scarcely a house in it in which I have not +had a marriage or prayed over a coffin. Ah, sir, these are the scenes +that make the minister more than all his sermons. You must join +the family, Mr. Dishart, or you are only a minister once a week. And +remember this, if your call is from above, it is a call to stay. Many +such partings in a lifetime as I have had to-day would be too +heartrending." + +"And yet," Gavin said, hesitatingly, "they told me in Glasgow that I +had received a call from the mouth of hell." + +"Those were cruel words, but they only mean that people who are seldom +more than a day's work in advance of want sometimes rise in arms for +food. Our weavers are passionately religious, and so independent that +they dare any one to help them, but if their wages were lessened they +could not live. And so at talk of reduction they catch fire. Change of +any kind alarms them, and though they call themselves Whigs, they rose +a few years ago over the paving of the streets and stoned the workmen, +who were strangers, out of the town." + +"And though you may have thought the place quiet to-day, Mr. Dishart, +there was an ugly outbreak only two months ago, when the weavers +turned on the manufacturers for reducing the price of the web, made a +bonfire of some of their doors, and terrified one of them into leaving +Thrums. Under the command of some Chartists, the people next paraded +the streets to the music of fife and drum, and six policemen who drove +up from Tilliedrum in a light cart were sent back tied to the seats." + +"No one has been punished?" + +"Not yet, but nearly two years ago there was a similar riot, and the +sheriff took no action for months. Then one night the square suddenly +filled with soldiers, and the ringleaders were seized in their beds. +Mr. Dishart, the people are determined not to be caught in that way +again, and ever since the rising a watch has been kept by night on +every road that leads to Thrums. The signal that the soldiers are +coming is to be the blowing of a horn. If you ever hear that horn, I +implore you to hasten to the square." + +"The weavers would not fight?" + +"You do not know how the Chartists have fired this part of the +country. One misty day, a week ago, I was on the hill; I thought I had +it to myself, when suddenly I heard a voice cry sharply, 'Shoulder +arms.' I could see no one, and after a moment I put it down to a freak +of the wind. Then all at once the mist before me blackened, and a body +of men seemed to grow out of it. They were not shadows; they were +Thrums weavers drilling, with pikes in their hands. + +"They broke up," Mr. Carfrae continued, after a pause, "at my +entreaty, but they have met again since then." + +"And there were Auld Lichts among them?" Gavin asked. "I should have +thought they would be frightened at our precentor, Lang Tammas, who +seems to watch for backsliding in the congregation as if he had +pleasure in discovering it." + +Gavin spoke with feeling, for the precentor had already put him +through his catechism, and it was a stiff ordeal. + +"The precentor!" said Mr. Carfrae. "Why, he was one of them." + +The old minister, once so brave a figure, tottered as he rose to go, +and reeled in a dizziness until he had walked a few paces. Gavin went +with him to the foot of the manse road; without his hat, as all Thrums +knew before bedtime. + +"I begin," Gavin said, as they were parting, "where you leave off, and +my prayer is that I may walk in your ways." + +"Ah, Mr. Dishart," the white-haired minister said, with a sigh, "the +world does not progress so quickly as a man grows old. You only begin +where I began." + +He left Gavin, and then, as if the little minister's last words had +hurt him, turned and solemnly pointed his staff upward. Such men are +the strong nails that keep the world together. + +The twenty-one-years-old minister returned to the manse somewhat +sadly, but when he saw his mother at the window of her bedroom, his +heart leapt at the thought that she was with him and he had eighty +pounds a year. Gaily he waved both his hands to her, and she answered +with a smile, and then, in his boyishness, he jumped over a gooseberry +bush. Immediately afterwards he reddened and tried to look venerable, +for while in the air he had caught sight of two women and a man +watching him from the dyke. He walked severely to the door, and, again +forgetting himself, was bounding upstairs to Margaret, when Jean, the +servant, stood scandalised in his way. + +"I don't think she caught me," was Gavin's reflection, and "The Lord +preserve's!" was Jean's. + +Gavin found his mother wondering how one should set about getting a +cup of tea in a house that had a servant in it. He boldly rang the +bell, and the willing Jean answered it so promptly (in a rush and +jump) that Margaret was as much startled as Aladdin the first time he +rubbed his lamp. + +Manse servants of the most admired kind move softly, as if constant +contact with a minister were goloshes to them; but Jean was new and +raw, only having got her place because her father might be an elder +any day. She had already conceived a romantic affection for her +master; but to say "sir" to him--as she thirsted to do--would have +been as difficult to her as to swallow oysters. So anxious was she to +please that when Gavin rang she fired herself at the bedroom, but +bells were novelties to her as well as to Margaret, and she cried, +excitedly, "What is 't?" thinking the house must be on fire. + +"There's a curran folk at the back door," Jean announced later, "and +their respects to you, and would you gie them some water out o' the +well? It has been a drouth this aucht days, and the pumps is locked. +Na," she said, as Gavin made a too liberal offer, "that would toom the +well, and there's jimply enough for oursels. I should tell you, too, +that three o' them is no Auld Lichts." + +"Let that make no difference," Gavin said grandly, but Jean changed +his message to: "A bowlful apiece to Auld Lichts; all other +denominations one cupful." + +"Ay, ay," said Snecky Hobart, letting down the bucket, "and we'll +include atheists among other denominations." The conversation came to +Gavin and Margaret through the kitchen doorway. + +"Dinna class Jo Cruickshanks wi' me," said Sam'l Langlands the U. P. + +"Na, na," said Cruickshanks the atheist, "I'm ower independent to be +religious. I dinna gang to the kirk to cry, 'Oh, Lord, gie, gie, +gie.'" + +"Take tent o' yoursel', my man," said Lang Tammas sternly, "or you'll +soon be whaur you would neifer the warld for a cup o' that cauld +water." + +"Maybe you've ower keen an interest in the devil, Tammas," retorted +the atheist; "but, ony way, if it's heaven for climate, it's hell for +company." + +"Lads," said Snecky, sitting down on the bucket, "we'll send Mr. +Dishart to Jo. He'll make another Rob Dow o' him." + +"Speak mair reverently o' your minister," said the precentor. "He has +the gift." + +"I hinna naturally your solemn rasping word, Tammas, but in the heart +I speak in all reverence. Lads, the minister has a word! I tell you he +prays near like one giving orders." + +"At first," Snecky continued, "I thocht yon lang candidate was the +earnestest o' them a', and I dinna deny but when I saw him wi' his +head bowed-like in prayer during the singing I says to mysel', 'Thou +art the man.' Ay, but Betsy wraxed up her head, and he wasna praying. +He was combing his hair wi' his fingers on the sly." + +"You ken fine, Sneck," said Cruickshanks, "that you said, 'Thou art +the man' to ilka ane o' them, and just voted for Mr. Dishart because +he preached hinmost." + +"I didna say it to Mr. Urquhart, the ane that preached second," Sneck +said. "That was the lad that gaed through ither." + +"Ay," said Susy Tibbits, nicknamed by Haggart "the Timidest Woman" +because she once said she was too young to marry, "but I was fell +sorry for him, just being over anxious. He began bonny, flinging +himself, like ane inspired, at the pulpit door, but after Hendry Munn +pointed at it and cried out, 'Be cautious, the sneck's loose,' he a' +gaed to bits. What a coolness Hendry has, though I suppose it was his +duty, him being kirk-officer." + +"We didna want a man," Lang Tammas said, "that could be put out by sic +a sma' thing as that. Mr. Urquhart was in sic a ravel after it that +when he gies out the first line o' the hunder and nineteenth psalm for +singing, says he, 'And so on to the end.' Ay, that finished his +chance." + +"The noblest o' them to look at," said Tibbie Birse, "was that ane +frae Aberdeen, him that had sic a saft side to Jacob." + +"Ay," said Snecky, "and I speired at Dr. McQueen if I should vote for +him. 'Looks like a genius, does he?' says the Doctor. 'Weel, then,' +says he, 'dinna vote for him, for my experience is that there's no +folk sic idiots as them that looks like geniuses.'" + +"Sal," Susy said, "it's a guid thing we've settled, for I enjoyed +sitting like a judge upon them so muckle that I sair doubt it was a +kind o' sport to me." + +"It was no sport to them, Susy, I'se uphaud, but it is a blessing +we've settled, and ondoubtedly we've got the pick o' them. The only +thing Mr. Dishart did that made me oneasy was his saying the word +Caesar as if it began wi' a _k_." + +"He'll startle you mair afore you're done wi' him," the atheist said +maliciously. "I ken the ways o' thae ministers preaching for kirks. +Oh, they're cunning. You was a' pleased that Mr. Dishart spoke about +looms and webs, but, lathies, it was a trick. Ilka ane o' thae young +ministers has a sermon about looms for weaving congregations, and a +second about beating swords into ploughshares for country places, and +another on the great catch of fishes for fishing villages. That's +their stock-in-trade; and just you wait and see if you dinna get the +ploughshares and the fishes afore the month's out. A minister +preaching for a kirk is one thing, but a minister placed in't may be a +very different berry." + +"Joseph Cruickshanks," cried the precentor, passionately, "none o' +your d----d blasphemy!" + +They all looked at Whamond, and he dug his teeth into his lips in +shame. + +"Wha's swearing now?" said the atheist. + +But Whamond was quick. + +"Matthew, twelve and thirty-one," he said. + +"Dagont, Tammas," exclaimed the baffled Cruickshanks, "you're aye +quoting Scripture. How do you no quote Feargus O'Connor?" + +"Lads," said Snecky, "Jo hasna heard Mr. Dishart's sermons. Ay, we get +it scalding when he comes to the sermon. I canna thole a minister +that preaches as if heaven was round the corner." + +"If you're hitting at our minister, Snecky," said James Cochrane, "let +me tell you he's a better man than yours." + +"A better curler, I dare say." + +"A better prayer." + +"Ay, he can pray for a black frost as if it was ane o' the Royal +Family. I ken his prayers, 'O Lord, let it haud for anither day, and +keep the snaw awa'.' Will you pretend, Jeames, that Mr. Duthie could +make onything o' Rob Dow?" + +"I admit that Rob's awakening was an extraordinary thing, and +sufficient to gie Mr. Dishart a name. But Mr. Carfrae was baffled wi' +Rob too." + +"Jeames, if you had been in our kirk that day Mr. Dishart preached +for't you would be wearying the now for Sabbath, to be back in't +again. As you ken, that wicked man there, Jo Cruickshanks, got Rob +Dow, drucken, cursing, poaching Rob Dow, to come to the kirk to annoy +the minister. Ay, he hadna been at that work for ten minutes when Mr. +Dishart stopped in his first prayer and ga'e Rob a look. I couldna see +the look, being in the precentor's box, but as sure as death I felt it +boring through me. Rob is hard wood, though, and soon he was at his +tricks again. Weel, the minister stopped a second time in the sermon, +and so awful was the silence that a heap o' the congregation couldna +keep their seats. I heard Rob breathing quick and strong. Mr. Dishart +had his arm pointed at him a' this time, and at last he says sternly, +'Come forward.' Listen, Joseph Cruickshanks, and tremble. Rob gripped +the board to keep himsel' frae obeying, and again Mr. Dishart says, +'Come forward,' and syne Rob rose shaking, and tottered to the pulpit +stair like a man suddenly shot into the Day of Judgment. 'You hulking +man of sin,' cries Mr. Dishart, not a tick fleid, though Rob's as big +as three o' him, 'sit down on the stair and attend to me, or I'll step +doun frae the pulpit and run you out of the house of God.'" + +"And since that day," said Hobart, "Rob has worshipped Mr. Dishart as +a man that has stepped out o' the Bible. When the carriage passed this +day we was discussing the minister, and Sam'l Dickie wasna sure but +what Mr. Dishart wore his hat rather far back on his head. You should +have seen Rob. 'My certie,' he roars, 'there's the shine frae Heaven +on that little minister's face, and them as says there's no has me to +fecht.'" + +"Ay, weel," said the U. P., rising, "we'll see how Rob wears--and how +your minister wears too. I wouldna like to sit in a kirk whaur they +daurna sing a paraphrase." + +"The Psalms of David," retorted Whamond, "mount straight to heaven, +but your paraphrases sticks to the ceiling o' the kirk." + +"You're a bigoted set, Tammas Whamond, but I tell you this, and it's +my last words to you the nicht, the day'll come when you'll hae Mr. +Duthie, ay, and even the U. P. minister, preaching in the Auld Licht +kirk." + +"And let this be my last words to you," replied the precentor, +furiously; "that rather than see a U. P. preaching in the Auld Licht +kirk I would burn in hell fire for ever!" + +This gossip increased Gavin's knowledge of the grim men with whom he +had now to deal. But as he sat beside Margaret after she had gone to +bed, their talk was pleasant. + +"You remember, mother," Gavin said, "how I almost prayed for the manse +that was to give you an egg every morning. I have been telling Jean +never to forget the egg." + +"Ah, Gavin, things have come about so much as we wanted that I'm a +kind o' troubled. It's hardly natural, and I hope nothing terrible is +to happen now." + +Gavin arranged her pillows as she liked them, and when he next stole +into the room in his stocking soles to look at her, he thought she was +asleep. But she was not. I dare say she saw at that moment Gavin in +his first frock, and Gavin in knickerbockers, and Gavin as he used to +walk into the Glasgow room from college, all still as real to her as +the Gavin who had a kirk. + +The little minister took away the lamp to his own room, shaking his +fist at himself for allowing his mother's door to creak. He pulled up +his blind. The town lay as still as salt. But a steady light showed in +the south, and on pressing his face against the window he saw another +in the west. Mr. Carfrae's words about the night-watch came back to +him. Perhaps it had been on such a silent night as this that the +soldiers marched into Thrums. Would they come again? + + + + +Chapter Four. + +FIRST COMING OF THE EGYPTIAN WOMAN. + + +A learned man says in a book, otherwise beautiful with truth, that +villages are family groups. To him Thrums would only be a village, +though town is the word we have ever used, and this is not true of it. +Doubtless we have interests in common, from which a place so near (but +the road is heavy) as Tilliedrum is shut out, and we have an +individuality of our own too, as if, like our red houses, we came from +a quarry that supplies no other place. But we are not one family. In +the old days, those of us who were of the Tenements seldom wandered to +the Croft head, and if we did go there we saw men to whom we could not +always give a name. To flit from the Tanage brae to Haggart's road was +to change one's friends. A kirk-wynd weaver might kill his swine and +Tillyloss not know of it until boys ran westward hitting each other +with the bladders. Only the voice of the dulsemen could be heard all +over Thrums at once. Thus even in a small place but a few outstanding +persons are known to everybody. + +In eight days Gavin's figure was more familiar in Thrums than many +that had grown bent in it. He had already been twice to the cemetery, +for a minister only reaches his new charge in time to attend a +funeral. Though short of stature he cast a great shadow. He was so +full of his duties, Jean said, that though he pulled to the door as he +left the manse, he had passed the currant bushes before it snecked. He +darted through courts, and invented ways into awkward houses. If you +did not look up quickly he was round the corner. His visiting +exhausted him only less than his zeal in the pulpit, from which, +according to report, he staggered damp with perspiration to the +vestry, where Hendry Munn wrung him like a wet cloth. A deaf lady, +celebrated for giving out her washing, compelled him to hold her +trumpet until she had peered into all his crannies, with the Shorter +Catechism for a lantern. Janet Dundas told him, in answer to his +knock, that she could not abide him, but she changed her mind when he +said her garden was quite a show. The wives who expected a visit +scrubbed their floors for him, cleaned out their presses for him, put +diamond socks on their bairns for him, rubbed their hearthstones blue +for him, and even tidied up the garret for him, and triumphed over the +neighbours whose houses he passed by. For Gavin blundered occasionally +by inadvertence, as when he gave dear old Betty Davie occasion to say +bitterly-- + +"Ou ay, you can sail by my door and gang to Easie's, but I'm thinking +you would stop at mine too if I had a brass handle on't." + +So passed the first four weeks, and then came the fateful night of the +seventeenth of October, and with it the strange woman. Family worship +at the manse was over and Gavin was talking to his mother, who never +crossed the threshold save to go to church (though her activity at +home was among the marvels Jean sometimes slipped down to the +Tenements to announce), when Wearyworld the policeman came to the door +"with Rob Dow's compliments, and if you're no wi' me by ten o'clock +I'm to break out again." Gavin knew what this meant, and at once set +off for Rob's. + +"You'll let me gang a bit wi' you," the policeman entreated, "for till +Rob sent me on this errand not a soul has spoken to me the day; ay, +mony a ane hae I spoken to, but not a man, woman, nor bairn would +fling me a word." + +"I often meant to ask you," Gavin said as they went along the +Tenements, which smelled at that hour of roasted potatoes, "why you +are so unpopular." + +"It's because I'm police. I'm the first ane that has ever been in +Thrums, and the very folk that appointed me at a crown a week looks +upon me as a disgraced man for accepting. It's Gospel that my ain wife +is short wi' me when I've on my uniform, though weel she kens that I +would rather hae stuck to the loom if I hadna ha'en sic a queer richt +leg. Nobody feels the shame o' my position as I do mysel', but this is +a town without pity." + +"It should be a consolation to you that you are discharging useful +duties." + +"But I'm no. I'm doing harm. There's Charles Dickson says that the +very sicht o' my uniform rouses his dander so muckle that it makes him +break windows, though a peaceably-disposed man till I was appointed. +And what's the use o' their haeing a policeman when they winna come to +the lock-up after I lay hands on them?" + +"Do they say they won't come?" + +"Say? Catch them saying onything! They just gie me a wap into the +gutters. If they would speak I wouldna complain, for I'm nat'rally the +sociablest man in Thrums." + +"Rob, however, had spoken to you." + +"Because he had need o' me. That was ay Rob's way, converted or no +converted. When he was blind drunk he would order me to see him safe +hame, but would he crack wi' me? Na, na." + +Wearyworld, who was so called because of his forlorn way of muttering, +"It's a weary warld, and nobody bides in't," as he went his melancholy +rounds, sighed like one about to cry, and Gavin changed the subject. + +"Is the watch for the soldiers still kept up?" he asked. + +"It is, but the watchers winna let me in aside them. I'll let you see +that for yoursel' at the head o' the Roods, for they watch there in +the auld windmill." + +Most of the Thrums lights were already out, and that in the windmill +disappeared as footsteps were heard. + +"You're desperate characters," the policeman cried, but got no answer. +He changed his tactics. + +"A fine nicht for the time o' year," he cried. No answer. + +"But I wouldna wonder," he shouted, "though we had rain afore +morning." No answer. + +"Surely you could gie me a word frae ahint the door. You're doing an +onlawful thing, but I dinna ken wha you are." + +"You'll swear to that?" some one asked gruffly. + +"I swear to it, Peter." + +Wearyworld tried another six remarks in vain. + +"Ay," he said to the minister, "that's what it is to be an onpopular +man. And now I'll hae to turn back, for the very anes that winna let +me join them would be the first to complain if I gaed out o' bounds." + +Gavin found Dow at New Zealand, a hamlet of mud houses, whose tenants +could be seen on any Sabbath morning washing themselves in the burn +that trickled hard by. Rob's son, Micah, was asleep at the door, but +he brightened when he saw who was shaking him. + +"My father put me out," he explained, "because he's daft for the +drink, and was fleid he would curse me. He hasna cursed me," Micah +added, proudly, "for an aught days come Sabbath. Hearken to him at his +loom. He daurna take his feet off the treadles for fear o' running +straucht to the drink." + +Gavin went in. The loom, and two stools, the one four-footed and the +other a buffet, were Rob's most conspicuous furniture. A shaving-strap +hung on the wall. The fire was out, but the trunk of a tree, charred +at one end, showed how he heated his house. He made a fire of peat, +and on it placed one end of a tree trunk that might be six feet long. +As the tree burned away it was pushed further into the fireplace, and +a roaring fire could always be got by kicking pieces of the +smouldering wood and blowing them into flame with the bellows. When +Rob saw the minister he groaned relief and left his loom. He had been +weaving, his teeth clenched, his eyes on fire, for seven hours. + +"I wasna fleid," little Micah said to the neighbours afterwards, "to +gang in wi' the minister. He's a fine man that. He didna ca' my father +names. Na, he said, 'You're a brave fellow, Rob,' and he took my +father's hand, he did. My father was shaking after his fecht wi' the +drink, and, says he, 'Mr. Dishart,' he says, 'if you'll let me break +out nows and nans, I could bide straucht atween times, but I canna +keep sober if I hinna a drink to look forrit to.' Ay, my father +prigged sair to get one fou day in the month, and he said, 'Syne if I +die sudden, there's thirty chances to one that I gang to heaven, so +it's worth risking.' But Mr. Dishart wouldna hear o't, and he cries, +'No, by God,' he cries, 'we'll wrestle wi' the devil till we throttle +him,' and down him and my father gaed on their knees. + +"The minister prayed a lang time till my father said his hunger for +the drink was gone, 'but', he says, 'it swells up in me o' a sudden +aye, and it may be back afore you're hame.' 'Then come to me at once,' +says Mr. Dishart; but my father says, 'Na, for it would haul me into +the public-house as if it had me at the end o' a rope, but I'll send +the laddie.' + +"You saw my father crying the minister back? It was to gie him twa +pound, and, says my father, 'God helping me,' he says, 'I'll droon +mysel in the dam rather than let the drink master me, but in case it +should get haud o' me and I should die drunk, it would be a michty +gratification to me to ken that you had the siller to bury me +respectable without ony help frae the poor's rates.' The minister +wasna for taking it at first, but he took it when he saw how earnest +my father was. Ay, he's a noble man. After he gaed awa my father made +me learn the names o' the apostles frae Luke sixth, and he says to me, +'Miss out Bartholomew,' he says, 'for he did little, and put Gavin +Dishart in his place.'" + +Feeling as old as he sometimes tried to look, Gavin turned homeward. +Margaret was already listening for him. You may be sure she knew his +step. I think our steps vary as much as the human face. My bookshelves +were made by a blind man who could identify by their steps nearly all +who passed his window. Yet he has admitted to me that he could not +tell wherein my steps differed from others; and this I believe, though +rejecting his boast that he could distinguish a minister's step from a +doctor's, and even tell to which denomination the minister belonged. + +I have sometimes asked myself what would have been Gavin's future had +he gone straight home that night from Dow's. He would doubtless have +seen the Egyptian before morning broke, but she would not have come +upon him like a witch. There are, I dare say, many lovers who would +never have been drawn to each other had they met for the first time, +as, say, they met the second time. But such dreaming is to no purpose. +Gavin met Sanders Webster, the mole-catcher, and was persuaded by him +to go home by Caddam Wood. + +Gavin took the path to Caddam, because Sanders told him the Wild +Lindsays were there, a gypsy family that threatened the farmers by day +and danced devilishly, it was said, at night. The little minister knew +them by repute as a race of giants, and that not many persons would +have cared to face them alone at midnight; but he was feeling as one +wound up to heavy duties, and meant to admonish them severely. + +Sanders, an old man who lived with his sister Nanny on the edge of the +wood, went with him, and for a time both were silent. But Sanders had +something to say. + +"Was you ever at the Spittal, Mr. Dishart?" he asked. + +"Lord Rintoul's house at the top of Glen Quharity? No." + +"Hae you ever looked on a lord?" + +"No." + +"Or on an auld lord's young leddyship? I have." + +"What is she?" + +"You surely ken that Rintoul's auld, and is to be married on a young +leddyship. She's no' a leddyship yet, but they're to be married soon, +so I may say I've seen a leddyship. Ay, an impressive sicht. It was +yestreen." + +"Is there a great difference in their ages?" + +"As muckle as atween auld Peter Spens and his wife, wha was saxteen +when he was saxty, and she was playing at dumps in the street when her +man was waiting for her to make his porridge. Ay, sic a differ doesna +suit wi' common folk, but of course earls can please themsels. +Rintoul's so fond o' the leddyship 'at is to be, that when she was at +the school in Edinbury he wrote to her ilka day. Kaytherine Crummie +telled me that, and she says aince you're used to it, writing letters +is as easy as skinning moles. I dinna ken what they can write sic a +heap about, but I daur say he gies her his views on the Chartist +agitation and the potato disease, and she'll write back about the +romantic sichts o' Edinbury and the sermons o' the grand preachers she +hears. Sal, though, thae grand folk has no religion to speak o', for +they're a' English kirk. You're no' speiring what her leddyship said +to me?" + +"What did she say?" + +"Weel, you see, there was a dancing ball on, and Kaytherine Crummie +took me to a window whaur I could stand on a flower-pot and watch the +critturs whirling round in the ball like teetotums. What's mair, she +pointed out the leddyship that's to be to me, and I just glowered at +her, for thinks I, 'Take your fill, Sanders, and whaur there's lords +and leddyships, dinna waste a minute on colonels and honourable misses +and sic like dirt.' Ay, but what wi' my een blinking at the blaze o' +candles, I lost sicht o' her till all at aince somebody says at my +lug, 'Well, my man, and who is the prettiest lady in the room?' Mr. +Dishart, it was her leddyship. She looked like a star." + +"And what did you do?" + +"The first thing I did was to fall aff the flower-pot; but syne I came +to, and says I, wi' a polite smirk, 'I'm thinking your leddyship,' +says I, 'as you're the bonniest yourself.'" + +"I see you are a cute man, Sanders." + +"Ay, but that's no' a'. She lauched in a pleased way and tapped me wi' +her fan, and says she, 'Why do you think me the prettiest?' I dinna +deny but what that staggered me, but I thocht a minute, and took a +look at the other dancers again, and syne I says, michty sly like, +'The other leddies,' I says, 'has sic sma' feet.'" + +Sanders stopped here and looked doubtingly at Gavin. + +"I canna make up my mind," he said, "whether she liked that, for she +rapped my knuckles wi' her fan fell sair, and aff she gaed. Ay, I +consulted Tammas Haggart about it, and he says, 'The flirty crittur,' +he says. What would you say, Mr. Dishart?" + +Gavin managed to escape without giving an answer, for here their roads +separated. He did not find the Wild Lindsays, however. Children of +whim, of prodigious strength while in the open, but destined to wither +quickly in the hot air of towns, they had gone from Caddam, leaving +nothing of themselves behind but a black mark burned by their fires +into the ground. Thus they branded the earth through many counties +until some hour when the spirit of wandering again fell on them, and +they forsook their hearths with as little compunction as the bird +leaves its nest. + +Gavin had walked quickly, and he now stood silently in the wood, his +hat in his hand. In the moonlight the grass seemed tipped with hoar +frost. Most of the beeches were already bare, but the shoots, +clustering round them, like children at their mother's skirts, still +retained their leaves red and brown. Among the pines these leaves were +as incongruous as a wedding-dress at a funeral. Gavin was standing on +grass, but there were patches of heather within sight, and broom, and +the leaf of the blaeberry. Where the beeches had drawn up the earth +with them as they grew, their roots ran this way and that, slippery to +the feet and looking like disinterred bones. A squirrel appeared +suddenly on the charred ground, looked doubtfully at Gavin to see if +he was growing there, and then glided up a tree, where it sat eyeing +him, and forgetting to conceal its shadow. Caddam was very still. At +long intervals came from far away the whack of an axe on wood. Gavin +was in a world by himself, and this might be some one breaking into +it. + +The mystery of woods by moonlight thrilled the little minister. His +eyes rested on the shining roots, and he remembered what had been told +him of the legend of Caddam, how once on a time it was a mighty wood, +and a maiden most beautiful stood on its confines, panting and afraid, +for a wicked man pursued her; how he drew near, and she ran a little +way into the wood, and he followed her, and she still ran, and still +he followed, until both were for ever lost, and the bones of her +pursuer lie beneath a beech, but the lady may still be heard singing +in the woods if the night be fine, for then she is a glad spirit, but +weeping when there is wild wind, for then she is but a mortal seeking +a way out of the wood. + +[Illustration: IN CADDAM WOOD.] + +The squirrel slid down the fir and was gone. The axe's blows +ceased. Nothing that moved was in sight. The wind that has its nest in +trees was circling around with many voices, that never rose above a +whisper, and were often but the echo of a sigh. + +Gavin was in the Caddam of past days, where the beautiful maiden +wanders ever, waiting for him who is so pure that he may find her. He +will wander over the tree-tops looking for her, with the moon for his +lamp, and some night he will hear her singing. The little minister +drew a deep breath, and his foot snapped a brittle twig. Then he +remembered who and where he was, and stooped to pick up his staff. But +he did not pick it up, for as his fingers were closing on it the lady +began to sing. + +For perhaps a minute Gavin stood stock still, like an intruder. Then +he ran towards the singing, which seemed to come from Windyghoul, a +straight road through Caddam that farmers use in summer, but leave in +the back end of the year to leaves and pools. In Windyghoul there is +either no wind or so much that it rushes down the sieve like an army, +entering with a shriek of terror, and escaping with a derisive howl. +The moon was crossing the avenue. But Gavin only saw the singer. + +She was still fifty yards away, sometimes singing gleefully, and again +letting her body sway lightly as she came dancing up Windyghoul. Soon +she was within a few feet of the little minister, to whom singing, +except when out of tune, was a suspicious thing, and dancing a device +of the devil. His arm went out wrathfully, and his intention was to +pronounce sentence on this woman. + +But she passed, unconscious of his presence, and he had not moved nor +spoken. Though really of the average height, she was a little thing to +the eyes of Gavin, who always felt tall and stout except when he +looked down. The grace of her swaying figure was a new thing in the +world to him. Only while she passed did he see her as a gleam of +colour, a gypsy elf poorly clad, her bare feet flashing beneath a +short green skirt, a twig of rowan berries stuck carelessly into her +black hair. Her face was pale. She had an angel's loveliness. Gavin +shook. + +Still she danced onwards, but she was very human, for when she came to +muddy water she let her feet linger in it, and flung up her arms, +dancing more wantonly than before. A diamond on her finger shot a +thread of fire over the pool. Undoubtedly she was the devil. + +Gavin leaped into the avenue, and she heard him and looked behind. He +tried to cry "Woman!" sternly, but lost the word, for now she saw him, +and laughed with her shoulders, and beckoned to him, so that he shook +his fist at her. She tripped on, but often turning her head beckoned +and mocked him, and he forgot his dignity and his pulpit and all other +things, and ran after her. Up Windyghoul did he pursue her, and it was +well that the precentor was not there to see. She reached the mouth of +the avenue, and kissing her hand to Gavin, so that the ring gleamed +again, was gone. + +The minister's one thought was to find her, but he searched in vain. +She might be crossing the hill on her way to Thrums, or perhaps she +was still laughing at him from behind a tree. After a longer time than +he was aware of, Gavin realised that his boots were chirping and his +trousers streaked with mud. Then he abandoned the search and hastened +homewards in a rage. + +[Illustration: IN WINDYGHOUL.] + +From the hill to the manse the nearest way is down two fields, and the +little minister descended them rapidly. Thrums, which is red in +daylight, was grey and still as the cemetery. He had glimpses of +several of its deserted streets. To the south the watch-light showed +brightly, but no other was visible. So it seemed to Gavin, and +then--suddenly--he lost the power to move. He had heard the horn. +Thrice it sounded, and thrice it struck him to the heart. He looked +again and saw a shadow stealing along the Tenements, then another, +then half-a-dozen. He remembered Mr. Carfrae's words, "If you ever +hear that horn, I implore you to hasten to the square," and in another +minute he had reached the Tenements. + +Now again he saw the gypsy. She ran past him, half-a-score of men, +armed with staves and pikes, at her heels. At first he thought they +were chasing her, but they were following her as a leader. Her eyes +sparkled as she waved them to the square with her arms. + +"The soldiers, the soldiers!" was the universal cry. + +"Who is that woman?" demanded Gavin, catching hold of a frightened old +man. + +"Curse the Egyptian limmer," the man answered, "she's egging my laddie +on to fecht." + +"Bless her rather," the son cried, "for warning us that the sojers is +coming. Put your ear to the ground, Mr. Dishart, and you'll hear the +dirl o' their feet." + +The young man rushed away to the square, flinging his father from him. +Gavin followed. As he turned into the school wynd, the town drum began +to beat, windows were thrown open, and sullen men ran out of closes +where women were screaming and trying to hold them back. At the foot +of the wynd Gavin passed Sanders Webster. + +"Mr. Dishart," the mole-catcher cried, "hae you seen that Egyptian? +May I be struck dead if it's no' her little leddyship." + +But Gavin did not hear him. + + + + +Chapter Five. + +A WARLIKE CHAPTER, CULMINATING IN THE FLOUTING OF THE MINISTER BY THE +WOMAN. + + +"Mr. Dishart!" + +Jean had clutched at Gavin in Bank Street. Her hair was streaming, and +her wrapper but half buttoned. + +"Oh, Mr. Dishart, look at the mistress! I couldna keep her in the +manse." + +Gavin saw his mother beside him, bare-headed, trembling. + +"How could I sit still, Gavin, and the town full o' the skirls of +women and bairns? Oh, Gavin, what can I do for them? They will suffer +most this night." + +As Gavin took her hand he knew that Margaret felt for the people more +than he. + +"But you must go home, mother," he said, "and leave me to do my duty. +I will take you myself if you will not go with Jean. Be careful of +her, Jean." + +"Ay, will I," Jean answered, then burst into tears. "Mr. Dishart," she +cried, "if they take my father they'd best take my mither too." + +The two women went back to the manse, where Jean relit the fire, +having nothing else to do, and boiled the kettle, while Margaret +wandered in anguish from room to room. + +[Illustration: THE WARNING.] + +Men nearly naked ran past Gavin, seeking to escape from Thrums by the +fields he had descended. When he shouted to them they only ran faster. +A Tillyloss weaver whom he tried to stop struck him savagely and sped +past to the square. In Bank Street, which was full of people at one +moment and empty the next, the minister stumbled over old Charles +Yuill. + +"Take me and welcome," Yuill cried, mistaking Gavin for the enemy. He +had only one arm through the sleeve of his jacket, and his feet were +bare. + +"I am Mr. Dishart. Are the soldiers already in the square, Yuill?" + +"They'll be there in a minute." + +The man was so weak that Gavin had to hold him. + +"Be a man, Charles. You have nothing to fear. It is not such as you +the soldiers have come for. If need be, I can swear that you had not +the strength, even if you had the will, to join in the weavers' +riot." + +"For Godsake, Mr. Dishart," Yuill cried, his hands chattering on +Gavin's coat, "dinna swear that. My laddie was in the thick o' the +riot; and if he's ta'en there's the poor's-house gaping for Kitty and +me, for I couldna weave half a web a week. If there's a warrant agin +onybody o' the name of Yuill, swear it's me; swear I'm a desperate +character, swear I'm michty strong for all I look palsied; and if when +they take me, my courage breaks down, swear the mair, swear I +confessed my guilt to you on the Book." + +As Yuill spoke the quick rub-a-dub of a drum was heard. + +"The soldiers!" Gavin let go his hold of the old man, who hastened +away to give himself up. + +"That's no the sojers," said a woman; "it's the folk gathering in the +square. This'll be a watery Sabbath in Thrums." + +"Rob Dow," shouted Gavin, as Dow flung past with a scythe in his hand, +"lay down that scythe." + +"To hell wi' religion!" Rob retorted, fiercely; "it spoils a' thing." + +"Lay down that scythe; I command you." + +Rob stopped undecidedly, then cast the scythe from him, but its +rattle on the stones was more than he could bear. + +"I winna," he cried, and, picking it up, ran to the square. + +An upper window in Bank Street opened, and Dr. McQueen put out his +head. He was smoking as usual. + +"Mr. Dishart," he said, "you will return home at once if you are a +wise man; or, better still, come in here. You can do nothing with +these people to-night." + +"I can stop their fighting." + +"You will only make black blood between them and you." + +"Dinna heed him, Mr. Dishart," cried some women. + +"You had better heed him," cried a man. + +"I will not desert my people," Gavin said. + +"Listen, then, to my prescription," the doctor replied. "Drive that +gypsy lassie out of the town before the soldiers reach it. She is +firing the men to a red-heat through sheer devilry." + +"She brocht the news, or we would have been nipped in our beds," some +people cried. + +"Does any one know who she is?" Gavin demanded, but all shook their +heads. The Egyptian, as they called her, had never been seen in these +parts before. + +"Has any other person seen the soldiers?" he asked. "Perhaps this is a +false alarm." + +"Several have seen them within the last few minutes," the doctor +answered. "They came from Tilliedrum, and were advancing on us from +the south, but when they heard that we had got the alarm they stopped +at the top of the brae, near T'nowhead's farm. Man, you would take +these things more coolly if you smoked." + +"Show me this woman," Gavin said sternly to those who had been +listening. Then a stream of people carried him into the square. + +The square has altered little, even in these days of enterprise, +when Tillyloss has become Newton Bank, and the Craft Head Croft +Terrace, with enamelled labels on them for the guidance of slow +people, who forget their address and have to run to the end of the +street and look up every time they write a letter. The stones on +which the butter-wives sat have disappeared, and with them the clay +walls and the outside stairs. Gone, too, is the stair of the +town-house, from the top of which the drummer roared the gossip of +the week on Sabbaths to country folk, to the scandal of all who +knew that the proper thing on that day is to keep your blinds down; +but the town-house itself, round and red, still makes exit to the +south troublesome. Wherever streets meet the square there is a +house in the centre of them, and thus the heart of Thrums is a +box, in which the stranger finds himself suddenly, wondering at +first how he is to get out, and presently how he got in. + +To Gavin, who never before had seen a score of people in the square at +once, here was a sight strange and terrible. Andrew Struthers, an old +soldier, stood on the outside stair of the town-house, shouting words +of command to some fifty weavers, many of them scantily clad, but all +armed with pikes and poles. Most were known to the little minister, +but they wore faces that were new to him. Newcomers joined the body +every moment. If the drill was clumsy the men were fierce. Hundreds of +people gathered around, some screaming, some shaking their fists at +the old soldier, many trying to pluck their relatives out of danger. +Gavin could not see the Egyptian. Women and old men, fighting for the +possession of his ear, implored him to disperse the armed band. He ran +up the town-house stair, and in a moment it had become a pulpit. + +"Dinna dare to interfere, Mr. Dishart," Struthers said savagely. + +"Andrew Struthers," said Gavin solemnly, "in the name of God I order +you to leave me alone. If you don't," he added ferociously, "I'll +fling you over the stair." + +"Dinna heed him, Andrew," some one shouted, and another cried, "He +canna understand our sufferings; he has dinner ilka day." + +Struthers faltered, however, and Gavin cast his eye over the armed +men. + +"Rob Dow," he said, "William Carmichael, Thomas Whamond, William Munn, +Alexander Hobart, Henders Haggart, step forward." + +These were Auld Lichts, and when they found that the minister would +not take his eyes off them, they obeyed, all save Rob Dow. + +"Never mind him, Rob," said the atheist, Cruickshanks, "it's better +playing cards in hell than singing psalms in heaven." + +"Joseph Cruickshanks," responded Gavin grimly, "you will find no cards +down there." + +Then Rob also came to the foot of the stair. There was some angry +muttering from the crowd, and young Charles Yuill exclaimed, "Curse +you, would you lord it ower us on week-days as weel as on Sabbaths?" + +"Lay down your weapons," Gavin said to the six men. + +They looked at each other. Hobart slipped his pike behind his back. + +"I hae no weapon," he said slily. + +"Let me hae my fling this nicht," Dow entreated, "and I'll promise to +bide sober for a twelvemonth." + +"Oh, Rob, Rob!" the minister said bitterly, "are you the man I prayed +with a few hours ago?" + +The scythe fell from Rob's hands. + +"Down wi' your pikes," he roared to his companions, "or I'll brain you +wi' them." + +"Ay, lay them down," the precentor whispered, "but keep your feet on +them." + +Then the minister, who was shaking with excitement, though he did not +know it, stretched forth his arms for silence, and it came so suddenly +as to frighten the people in the neighboring streets. + +"If he prays we're done for," cried young Charles Yuill, but even in +that hour many of the people were unbonneted. + +"Oh, Thou who art the Lord of hosts," Gavin prayed, "we are in Thy +hands this night. These are Thy people, and they have sinned; but Thou +art a merciful God, and they were sore tried, and knew not what they +did. To Thee, our God, we turn for deliverance, for without Thee we +are lost." + +The little minister's prayer was heard all round the square, and many +weapons were dropped as an Amen to it. + +"If you fight," cried Gavin, brightening as he heard the clatter of +the iron on the stones, "your wives and children may be shot in the +streets. These soldiers have come for a dozen of you; will you be +benefited if they take away a hundred?" + +"Oh, hearken to him," cried many women. + +"I winna," answered a man, "for I'm ane o' the dozen. Whaur's the +Egyptian?" + +"Here." + +Gavin saw the crowd open, and the woman of Windyghoul come out of it, +and, while he should have denounced her, he only blinked, for once +more her loveliness struck him full in the eyes. She was beside him on +the stair before he became a minister again. + +"How dare you, woman?" he cried; but she flung a rowan berry at him. + +"If I were a man," she exclaimed, addressing the people, "I wouldna +let myself be catched like a mouse in a trap." + +"We winna," some answered. + +"What kind o' women are you," cried the Egyptian, her face gleaming as +she turned to her own sex, "that bid your men folk gang to gaol when a +bold front would lead them to safety? Do you want to be husbandless +and hameless?" + +"Disperse, I command you!" cried Gavin. "This abandoned woman is +inciting you to riot." + +"Dinna heed this little man," the Egyptian retorted. + +It is curious to know that even at that anxious moment Gavin winced +because she called him little. + +"She has the face of a mischief-maker," he shouted, "and her words are +evil." + +"You men and women o' Thrums," she responded, "ken that I wish you +weel by the service I hae done you this nicht. Wha telled you the +sojers was coming?" + +"It was you; it was you!" + +"Ay, and mony a mile I ran to bring the news. Listen, and I'll tell +you mair." + +"She has a false tongue," Gavin cried; "listen not to the brazen +woman." + +"What I have to tell," she said, "is as true as what I've telled +already, and how true that is you a' ken. You're wondering how the +sojers has come to a stop at the tap o' the brae instead o' marching +on the town. Here's the reason. They agreed to march straucht to the +square if the alarm wasna given, but if it was they were to break into +small bodies and surround the town so that you couldna get out. That's +what they're doing now." + +At this the screams were redoubled, and many men lifted the weapons +they had dropped. + +"Believe her not," cried Gavin. "How could a wandering gypsy know all +this?" + +"Ay, how can you ken?" some demanded. + +"It's enough that I do ken," the Egyptian answered. "And this mair I +ken, that the captain of the soldiers is confident he'll nab every one +o' you that's wanted unless you do one thing." + +"What is 't?" + +[Illustration: THE SOLDIERS.] + +"If you a' run different ways you're lost, but if you keep thegither +you'll be able to force a road into the country, whaur you can +scatter. That's what he's fleid you'll do." + +"Then it's what we will do." + +"It is what you will not do," Gavin said passionately. "The truth is +not in this wicked woman." + +But scarcely had he spoken when he knew that startling news had +reached the square. A murmur arose on the skirts of the mob, and swept +with the roar of the sea towards the town-house. A detachment of the +soldiers were marching down the Roods from the north. + +"There's some coming frae the east-town end," was the next intelligence; +"and they've gripped Sanders Webster, and auld Charles Yuill has +given himsel' up." + +"You see, you see," the gypsy said, flashing triumph at Gavin. + +"Lay down your weapons," Gavin cried, but his power over the people +had gone. + +"The Egyptian spoke true," they shouted; "dinna heed the minister." + +Gavin tried to seize the gypsy by the shoulders, but she slipped past +him down the stair, and crying "Follow me!" ran round the town-house +and down the brae. + +"Woman!" he shouted after her, but she only waved her arms scornfully. +The people followed her, many of the men still grasping their weapons, +but all in disorder. Within a minute after Gavin saw the gleam of the +ring on her finger, as she waved her hands, he and Dow were alone in +the square. + +"She's an awfu' woman that," Rob said. "I saw her lauching." + +Gavin ground his teeth. + +"Rob Dow," he said, slowly, "if I had not found Christ I would have +throttled that woman. You saw how she flouted me?" + + + + +Chapter Six. + +IN WHICH THE SOLDIERS MEET THE AMAZONS OF THRUMS. + + +Dow looked shamefacedly at the minister, and then set off up the +square. + +"Where are you going, Rob?" + +"To gie myself up. I maun do something to let you see there's one man +in Thrums that has mair faith in you than in a fliskmahoy." + +"And only one, Rob. But I don't know that they want to arrest you." + +"Ay, I had a hand in tying the polissman to the----" + +"I want to hear nothing about that," Gavin said, quickly. + +"Will I hide, then?" + +"I dare not advise you to do that. It would be wrong." + +Half a score of fugitives tore past the town-house, and were out of +sight without a cry. There was a tread of heavier feet, and a dozen +soldiers, with several policemen and two prisoners, appeared suddenly +on the north side of the square. + +"Rob," cried the minister in desperation, "run!" + +When the soldiers reached the town-house, where they locked up their +prisoners, Dow was skulking eastward, and Gavin running down the +brae. + +"They're fechting," he was told, "they're fechting on the brae, the +sojers is firing, a man's killed!" + +But this was an exaggeration. + +The brae, though short, is very steep. There is a hedge on one side of +it, from which the land falls away, and on the other side a hillock. +Gavin reached the scene to see the soldiers marching down the brae, +guarding a small body of policemen. The armed weavers were retreating +before them. A hundred women or more were on the hillock, shrieking +and gesticulating. Gavin joined them, calling on them not to fling the +stones they had begun to gather. + +The armed men broke into a rabble, flung down their weapons, and fled +back towards the town-house. Here they almost ran against the soldiers +in the square, who again forced them into the brae. Finding themselves +about to be wedged between the two forces, some crawled through the +hedge, where they were instantly seized by policemen. Others sought to +climb up the hillock and then escape into the country. The policemen +clambered after them. The men were too frightened to fight, but a +woman seized a policeman by the waist and flung him head foremost +among the soldiers. One of these shouted "Fire!" but the captain cried +"No." Then came showers of missiles from the women. They stood their +ground and defended the retreat of the scared men. + +Who flung the first stone is not known, but it is believed to have +been the Egyptian. The policemen were recalled, and the whole body +ordered to advance down the brae. Thus the weavers who had not escaped +at once were driven before them, and soon hemmed in between the two +bodies of soldiers, when they were easily captured. But for two +minutes there was a thick shower of stones and clods of earth. + +It was ever afterwards painful to Gavin to recall this scene, but less +on account of the shower of stones than because of the flight of one +divit in it. He had been watching the handsome young captain, +Halliwell, riding with his men; admiring him, too, for his coolness. +This coolness exasperated the gypsy, who twice flung at Halliwell and +missed him. He rode on smiling contemptuously. + +"Oh, if I could only fling straight!" the Egyptian moaned. + +Then she saw the minister by her side, and in the tick of a clock +something happened that can never be explained. For the moment Gavin +was so lost in misery over the probable effect of the night's rioting +that he had forgotten where he was. Suddenly the Egyptian's beautiful +face was close to his, and she pressed a divit into his hand, at the +same time pointing at the officer, and whispering "Hit him." + +Gavin flung the clod of earth, and hit Halliwell on the head. + +I say I cannot explain this. I tell what happened, and add with +thankfulness that only the Egyptian witnessed the deed. Gavin, I +suppose, had flung the divit before he could stay his hand. Then he +shrank in horror. + +"Woman!" he cried again. + +"You are a dear," she said, and vanished. + +By the time Gavin was breathing freely again the lock-up was crammed +with prisoners, and the Riot Act had been read from the town-house +stair. It is still remembered that the baron-bailie, to whom this duty +fell, had got no further than, "Victoria, by the Grace of God," when +the paper was struck out of his hands. + +When a stirring event occurs up here we smack our lips over it for +months, and so I could still write a history of that memorable night +in Thrums. I could tell how the doctor, a man whose shoulders often +looked as if they had been caught in a shower of tobacco ash, brought +me the news to the school-house, and now, when I crossed the fields to +dumfounder Waster Lunny with it, I found Birse, the post, reeling off +the story to him as fast as a fisher could let out line. I know who +was the first woman on the Marywell brae to hear the horn, and how she +woke her husband, and who heard it first at the Denhead and the +Tenements, with what they immediately said and did. I had from Dite +Deuchar's own lips the curious story of his sleeping placidly +throughout the whole disturbance, and on wakening in the morning +yoking to his loom as usual; and also his statement that such ill-luck +was enough to shake a man's faith in religion. The police had +knowledge that enabled them to go straight to the houses of the +weavers wanted, but they sometimes brought away the wrong man, for +such of the people as did not escape from the town had swopped houses +for the night--a trick that served them better than all their drilling +on the hill. Old Yuill's son escaped by burying himself in a +peat-rick, and Snecky Hobart by pretending that he was a sack of +potatoes. Less fortunate was Sanders Webster, the mole-catcher already +mentioned. Sanders was really an innocent man. He had not even been in +Thrums on the night of the rising against the manufacturers, but +thinking that the outbreak was to be left unpunished, he wanted his +share in the glory of it. So he had boasted of being a ringleader +until many believed him, including the authorities. His braggadocio +undid him. He was run to earth in a pig-sty, and got nine months. With +the other arrests I need not concern myself, for they have no part in +the story of the little minister. + +While Gavin was with the families whose breadwinners were now in the +lock-up, a cell that was usually crammed on fair nights and empty for +the rest of the year, the sheriff and Halliwell were in the round-room +of the town-house, not in a good temper. They spoke loudly, and some +of their words sank into the cell below. + +"The whole thing has been a fiasco," the sheriff was heard saying, +"owing to our failing to take them by surprise. Why, three-fourths of +those taken will have to be liberated, and we have let the worst +offenders slip through our hands." + +"Well," answered Halliwell, who was wearing a heavy cloak, "I have +brought your policemen into the place, and that is all I undertook to +do." + +"You brought them, but at the expense of alarming the countryside. I +wish we had come without you." + +"Nonsense! My men advanced like ghosts. Could your police have come +down that brae alone to-night?" + +"Yes, because it would have been deserted. Your soldiers, I tell you, +have done the mischief. This woman, who, so many of our prisoners +admit, brought the news of our coming, must either have got it from +one of your men or have seen them on the march." + +"The men did not know their destination. True, she might have seen us +despite our precautions, but you forget that she told them how we were +to act in the event of our being seen. That is what perplexes me." + +"Yes, and me too, for it was a close secret between you and me and +Lord Rintoul and not half-a-dozen others." + +"Well, find the woman, and we shall get the explanation. If she is +still in the town she cannot escape, for my men are everywhere." + +"She was seen ten minutes ago." + +"Then she is ours. I say, Riach, if I were you I would set all my +prisoners free and take away a cart-load of their wives instead. I +have only seen the backs of the men of Thrums, but, on my word, I very +nearly ran away from the women. Hallo! I believe one of your police +has caught our virago single-handed." + +So Halliwell exclaimed, hearing some one shout, "This is the rascal!" +But it was not the Egyptian who was then thrust into the round-room. +It was John Dunwoodie, looking very sly. Probably there was not, even +in Thrums, a cannier man than Dunwoodie. His religious views were +those of Cruickshanks, but he went regularly to church "on the +off-chance of there being a God after all; so I'm safe, whatever side +may be wrong." + +"This is the man," explained a policeman, "who brought the alarm. He +admits himself having been in Tilliedrum just before we started." + +"Your name, my man?" the sheriff demanded. + +"It micht be John Dunwoodie," the tinsmith answered cautiously. + +"But is it?" + +"I dinna say it's no." + +"You were in Tilliedrum this evening?" + +"I micht hae been." + +"Were you?" + +"I'll swear to nothing." + +"Why not?" + +"Because I'm a canny man." + +"Into the cell with him," Halliwell cried, losing patience. + +"Leave him to me," said the sheriff. "I understand the sort of man. +Now, Dunwoodie, what were you doing in Tilliedrum?" + +"I was taking my laddie down to be prenticed to a writer there," +answered Dunwoodie, falling into the sheriff's net. + +"What are you yourself?" + +"I micht be a tinsmith to trade." + +"And you, a mere tinsmith, dare to tell me that a lawyer was willing +to take your son into his office? Be cautious, Dunwoodie." + +"Weel, then, the laddie's highly edicated and I hae siller, and that's +how the writer was to take him and make a gentleman o' him." + +"I learn from the neighbours," the policeman explained, "that this is +partly true, but what makes us suspect him is this. He left the laddie +at Tilliedrum, and yet when he came home the first person he sees at +the fireside is the laddie himself. The laddie had run home, and the +reason plainly was that he had heard of our preparations and wanted to +alarm the town." + +"There seems something in this, Dunwoodie," the sheriff said, "and if +you cannot explain it I must keep you in custody." + +"I'll make a clean breast o't," Dunwoodie replied, seeing that in this +matter truth was best. "The laddie was terrible against being made a +gentleman, and when he saw the kind o' life he would hae to lead, +clean hands, clean dickies, and no gutters on his breeks, his heart +took mair scunner at genteelity than ever, and he ran hame. Ay, I was +mad when I saw him at the fireside, but he says to me, 'How would you +like to be a gentleman yoursel', father?' he says, and that so +affected me 'at I'm to gie him his ain way." + +Another prisoner, Dave Langlands, was confronted with Dunwoodie. + +"John Dunwoodie's as innocent as I am mysel," Dave said, "and I'm most +michty innocent. It wasna John but the Egyptian that gave the alarm. I +tell you what, sheriff, if it'll make me innocenter-like I'll picture +the Egyptian to you just as I saw her, and syne you'll be able to +catch her easier." + +"You are an honest fellow," said the sheriff. + +"I only wish I had the whipping of him," growled Halliwell, who was of +a generous nature. + +"For what business had she," continued Dave righteously, "to meddle in +other folks' business? She's no a Thrums lassie, and so I say, 'Let +the law take its course on her.'" + +"Will you listen to such a cur, Riach?" asked Halliwell. + +"Certainly. Speak out, Langlands." + +"Weel, then, I was in the windmill the nicht." + +"You were a watcher?" + +"I happened to be in the windmill wi' another man," Dave went on, +avoiding the officer's question. + +"What was his name?" demanded Halliwell. + +"It was the Egyptian I was to tell you about," Dave said, looking to +the sheriff. + +"Ah, yes, you only tell tales about women," said Halliwell. + +"Strange women," corrected Dave. "Weel, we was there, and it would +maybe be twal o'clock, and we was speaking (but about lawful things) +when we heard some ane running yont the road. I keeked through a hole +in the door, and I saw it was an Egyptian lassie 'at I had never +clapped een on afore. She saw the licht in the window, and she cried, +'Hie, you billies in the windmill, the sojers is coming!' I fell in a +fricht, but the other man opened the door, and again she cries, 'The +sojers is coming; quick, or you'll be ta'en.' At that the other man up +wi' his bonnet and ran, but I didna make off so smart." + +"You had to pick yourself up first," suggested the officer. + +"Sal, it was the lassie picked me up; ay, and she picked up a horn at +the same time." + +"'Blaw on that,' she cried, 'and alarm the town.' But, sheriff, I +didna do't. Na, I had ower muckle respect for the law." + +"In other words," said Halliwell, "you also bolted, and left the gypsy +to blow the horn herself." + +"I dinna deny but what I made my feet my friend, but it wasna her that +blew the horn. I ken that, for I looked back and saw her trying to +do't, but she couldna, she didna ken the way." + +"Then who did blow it?" + +"The first man she met, I suppose. We a' kent that the horn was to be +the signal except Wearywarld. He's police, so we kept it frae him." + +"That is all you saw of the woman?" + +"Ay, for I ran straucht to my garret, and there your men took me. Can +I gae hame now, sheriff?" + +"No, you cannot. Describe the woman's appearance." + +"She had a heap o' rowan berries stuck in her hair, and, I think, she +had on a green wrapper and a red shawl. She had a most extraordinary +face. I canna exact describe it, for she would be lauchin' one second +and syne solemn the next. I tell you her face changed as quick as you +could turn the pages o' a book. Ay, here comes Wearywarld to speak up +for me." + +Wearyworld entered cheerfully. + +"This is the local policeman," a Tilliedrum officer said; "we have +been searching for him everywhere, and only found him now." + +"Where have you been?" asked the sheriff, wrathfully. + +"Whaur maist honest men is at this hour," replied Wearyworld; "in my +bed." + +"How dared you ignore your duty at such a time?" + +"It's a long story," the policeman answered, pleasantly, in +anticipation of a talk at last. + +"Answer me in a word." + +"In a word!" cried the policeman, quite crestfallen. "It canna be +done. You'll need to cross-examine me, too. It's my lawful richt." + +"I'll take you to the Tilliedrum gaol for your share in this night's +work if you do not speak to the purpose. Why did you not hasten to our +assistance?" + +"As sure as death I never kent you was here. I was up the Roods on my +rounds when I heard an awfu' din down in the square, and thinks I, +there's rough characters about, and the place for honest folk is their +bed. So to my bed I gaed, and I was in't when your men gripped me." + +"We must see into this before we leave. In the meantime you will act +as a guide to my searchers. Stop! Do you know anything of this +Egyptian?" + +"What Egyptian? Is't a lassie wi' rowans in her hair?" + +[Illustration: THE EGYPTIAN.] + +"The same. Have you seen her?" + +"That I have. There's nothing agin her, is there? Whatever it is, I'll +uphaud she didna do't, for a simpler, franker-spoken crittur couldna +be." + +"Never mind what I want her for. When did you see her?" + +"It would be about twal o'clock," began Wearyworld unctuously, "when I +was in the Roods, ay, no lang afore I heard the disturbance in the +square. I was standing in the middle o' the road, wondering how the +door o' the windmill was swinging open, when she came up to me. + +"'A fine nicht for the time o' year,' I says to her, for nobody but +the minister had spoken to me a' day. + +"'A very fine nicht,' says she, very frank, though she was breathing +quick like as if she had been running. 'You'll be police?' says she. + +"'I am,' says I, 'and wha be you?' + +"'I'm just a puir gypsy lassie,' she says. + +"'And what's that in your hand?' says I. + +"'It's a horn I found in the wood,' says she, 'but it's rusty and +winna blaw.' + +"I laughed at her ignorance, and says I, 'I warrant I could blaw it.' + +"'I dinna believe you,' says she. + +"'Gie me haud o't,' says I, and she gae it to me, and I blew some +bonny blasts on't. Ay, you see she didna ken the way o't. 'Thank you +kindly,' says she, and she ran awa without even minding to take the +horn back again." + +"You incredible idiot!" cried the sheriff. "Then it was you who gave +the alarm?" + +"What hae I done to madden you?" honest Wearyworld asked in +perplexity. + +"Get out of my sight, sir!" roared the sheriff. + +But the captain laughed. + +"I like your doughty policeman, Riach," he said. "Hie, obliging +friend, let us hear how this gypsy struck you. How was she dressed?" + +"She was snod, but no unca snod," replied Wearyworld, stiffly. + +"I don't understand you." + +"I mean she was couthie, but no sair in order." + +"What on earth is that?" + +"Weel, a tasty stocky, but gey orra put on." + +"What language are you speaking, you enigma?" + +"I'm saying she was naturally a bonny bit kimmer rather than happit up +to the nines." + +"Oh, go away," cried Halliwell; whereupon Wearyworld descended the +stair haughtily, declaring that the sheriff was an unreasonable man, +and that he was a queer captain who did not understand the English +language. + +"Can I gae hame now, sheriff?" asked Langlands, hopefully. + +"Take this fellow back to his cell," Riach directed shortly, "and +whatever else you do, see that you capture this woman. Halliwell, I am +going out to look for her myself. Confound it, what are you laughing +at?" + +"At the way this vixen has slipped through your fingers." + +"Not quite that, sir, not quite that. She is in Thrums still, and I +swear I'll have her before day breaks. See to it, Halliwell, that if +she is brought here in my absence she does not slip through your +fingers." + +"If she is brought here," said Halliwell, mocking him, "you must +return and protect me. It would be cruelty to leave a poor soldier in +the hands of a woman of Thrums." + +"She is not a Thrums woman. You have been told so a dozen times." + +"Then I am not afraid." + +In the round-room (which is oblong) there is a throne on which the +bailie sits when he dispenses justice. It is swathed in red cloths +that give it the appearance of a pulpit. Left to himself, Halliwell +flung off his cloak and taking a chair near this dais rested his legs +on the bare wooden table, one on each side of the lamp. He was still +in this position when the door opened, and two policemen thrust the +Egyptian into the room. + + + + +Chapter Seven. + +HAS THE FOLLY OF LOOKING INTO A WOMAN'S EYES BY WAY OF TEXT. + + +"This is the woman, captain," one of the policemen said in triumph; +"and, begging your pardon, will you keep a grip of her till the +sheriff comes back?" + +Halliwell did not turn his head. + +"You can leave her here," he said carelessly. "Three of us are not +needed to guard a woman." + +"But she's a slippery customer." + +"You can go," said Halliwell; and the policemen withdrew slowly, +eyeing their prisoner doubtfully until the door closed. Then the +officer wheeled round languidly, expecting to find the Egyptian gaunt +and muscular. + +"Now then," he drawled, "why----By Jove!" + +The gallant soldier was as much taken aback as if he had turned to +find a pistol at his ear. He took his feet off the table. Yet he only +saw the gypsy's girlish figure in its red and green, for she had +covered her face with her hands. She was looking at him intently +between her fingers, but he did not know this. All he did want to know +just then was what was behind the hands. + +Before he spoke again she had perhaps made up her mind about him, for +she began to sob bitterly. At the same time she slipped a finger over +her ring. + +"Why don't you look at me?" asked Halliwell, selfishly. + +"I daurna." + +"Am I so fearsome?" + +"You're a sojer, and you would shoot me like a craw." + +Halliwell laughed, and taking her wrists in his hands, uncovered her +face. + +"Oh, by Jove!" he said again, but this time to himself. + +As for the Egyptian, she slid the ring into her pocket, and fell back +before the officer's magnificence. + +"Oh," she cried, "is all sojers like you?" + +There was such admiration in her eyes that it would have been +self-contempt to doubt her. Yet having smiled complacently, Halliwell +became uneasy. + +"Who on earth are you?" he asked, finding it wise not to look her in +the face. "Why do you not answer me more quickly?" + +"Dinna be angry at that, captain," the Egyptian implored. "I promised +my mither aye to count twenty afore I spoke, because she thocht I was +ower glib. Captain, how is't that you're so fleid to look at me?" + +Thus put on his mettle, Halliwell again faced her, with the result +that his question changed to "Where did you get those eyes?" Then was +he indignant with himself. + +"What I want to know," he explained severely, "is how you were able to +acquaint the Thrums people with our movements? That you must tell me +at once, for the sheriff blames my soldiers. Come now, no counting +twenty!" + +He was pacing the room now, and she had her face to herself. It said +several things, among them that the officer evidently did not like +this charge against his men. + +"Does the shirra blame the sojers?" exclaimed this quick-witted +Egyptian. "Weel, that cows, for he has nane to blame but himsel'." + +"What!" cried Halliwell, delighted. "It was the sheriff who told +tales? Answer me. You are counting a hundred this time." + +Perhaps the gypsy had two reasons for withholding her answer. If so, +one of them was that as the sheriff had told nothing, she had a story +to make up. The other was that she wanted to strike a bargain with the +officer. + +"If I tell you," she said eagerly, "will you set me free?" + +"I may ask the sheriff to do so." + +"But he mauna see me," the Egyptian said in distress. "There's +reasons, captain." + +"Why, surely you have not been before him on other occasions," said +Halliwell, surprised. + +"No in the way you mean," muttered the gypsy, and for the moment her +eyes twinkled. But the light in them went out when she remembered that +the sheriff was near, and she looked desperately at the window as if +ready to fling herself from it. She had very good reasons for not +wishing to be seen by Riach, though fear that he would put her in gaol +was not one of them. + +Halliwell thought it was the one cause of her woe, and great was his +desire to turn the tables on the sheriff. + +"Tell me the truth," he said, "and I promise to befriend you." + +"Weel, then," the gypsy said, hoping still to soften his heart, and +making up her story as she told it, "yestreen I met the shirra, and he +telled me a' I hae telled the Thrums folk this nicht." + +"You can scarcely expect me to believe that. Where did you meet him?" + +"In Glen Quharity. He was riding on a horse." + +"Well, I allow he was there yesterday, and on horseback. He was on his +way back to Tilliedrum from Lord Rintoul's place. But don't tell me +that he took a gypsy girl into his confidence." + +"Ay, he did, without kenning. He was gieing his horse a drink when I +met him, and he let me tell him his fortune. He said he would gaol me +for an impostor if I didna tell him true, so I gaed about it +cautiously, and after a minute or twa I telled him he was coming to +Thrums the nicht to nab the rioters." + +"You are trifling with me," interposed the indignant soldier. "You +promised to tell me not what you said to the sheriff, but how he +disclosed our movements to you." + +"And that's just what I am telling you, only you hinna the rumelgumption +to see it. How do you think fortunes is telled? First we get out o' the +man, without his seeing what we're after, a' about himsel', and syne +we repeat it to him. That's what I did wi' the shirra." + +"You drew the whole thing out of him without his knowing?" + +"'Deed I did, and he rode awa' saying I was a witch." + +The soldier heard with the delight of a schoolboy. + +"Now if the sheriff does not liberate you at my request," he said, "I +will never let him hear the end of this story. He was right; you are a +witch. You deceived the sheriff; yes, undoubtedly you are a witch." + +He looked at her with fun in his face, but the fun disappeared, and a +wondering admiration took its place. + +"By Jove!" he said, "I don't wonder you bewitched the sheriff. I must +take care or you will bewitch the captain, too." + +At this notion he smiled, but he also ceased looking at her. Suddenly +the Egyptian again began to cry. + +"You're angry wi' me," she sobbed. "I wish I had never set een on +you." + +"Why do you wish that?" Halliwell asked. + +"Fine you ken," she answered, and again covered her face with her +hands. + +He looked at her undecidedly. + +"I am not angry with you," he said, gently. "You are an extraordinary +girl." + +Had he really made a conquest of this beautiful creature? Her words +said so, but had he? The captain could not make up his mind. He gnawed +his moustache in doubt. + +There was silence, save for the Egyptian's sobs. Halliwell's heart was +touched, and he drew nearer her. + +"My poor girl----" + +He stopped. Was she crying? Was she not laughing at him rather? He +became red. + +The gypsy peeped at him between her fingers, and saw that he was of +two minds. She let her hands fall from her face, and undoubtedly there +were tears on her cheeks. + +"If you're no angry wi' me," she said, sadly, "how will you no look at +me?" + +"I am looking at you now." + +He was very close to her, and staring into her wonderful eyes. I am +older than the Captain, and those eyes have dazzled me. + +"Captain dear." + +She put her hand in his. His chest rose. He knew she was seeking to +beguile him, but he could not take his eyes off hers. He was in a +worse plight than a woman listening to the first whisper of love. + +Now she was further from him, but the spell held. She reached the +door, without taking her eyes from his face. For several seconds he +had been as a man mesmerised. + +Just in time he came to. It was when she turned from him to find the +handle of the door. She was turning it when his hand fell on hers so +suddenly that she screamed. He twisted her round. + +[Illustration: CAPTAIN HALLIWELL.] + +"Sit down there," he said hoarsely, pointing to the chair upon which +he had flung his cloak. She dared not disobey. Then he leant against +the door, his back to her, for just then he wanted no one to see his +face. The gypsy sat very still and a little frightened. + +Halliwell opened the door presently, and called to the soldier on duty +below. + +"Davidson, see if you can find the sheriff. I want him. And +Davidson----" + +The captain paused. + +"Yes," he muttered, and the old soldier marvelled at his words, "it is +better. Davidson, lock this door on the outside." + +Davidson did as he was ordered, and again the Egyptian was left alone +with Halliwell. + +"Afraid of a woman!" she said, contemptuously, though her heart sank +when she heard the key turn in the lock. + +"I admit it," he answered, calmly. + +He walked up and down the room, and she sat silently watching him. + +"That story of yours about the sheriff was not true," he said at +last. + +"I suspect it wasna," answered the Egyptian coolly. "Hae you been +thinking about it a' this time? Captain, I could tell you what you're +thinking now. You're wishing it had been true, so that the ane o' you +couldna lauch at the other." + +"Silence!" said the captain, and not another word would he speak until +he heard the sheriff coming up the stair. The Egyptian trembled at his +step, and rose in desperation. + +"Why is the door locked?" cried the sheriff, shaking it. + +"All right," answered Halliwell; "the key is on your side." + +At that moment the Egyptian knocked the lamp off the table, and the +room was at once in darkness. The officer sprang at her, and, catching +her by the skirt, held on. + +"Why are you in darkness?" asked the sheriff, as he entered. + +"Shut the door," cried Halliwell. "Put your back to it." + +"Don't tell me the woman has escaped?" + +"I have her, I have her! She capsized the lamp, the little jade. Shut +the door." + +Still keeping firm hold of her, as he thought, the captain relit the +lamp with his other hand. It showed an extraordinary scene. The door +was shut, and the sheriff was guarding it. Halliwell was clutching the +cloth of the bailie's seat. There was no Egyptian. + +A moment passed before either man found his tongue. + +"Open the door. After her!" cried Halliwell. + +But the door would not open. The Egyptian had fled and locked it +behind her. + +What the two men said to each other, it would not be fitting to tell. +When Davidson, who had been gossiping at the corner of the town-house, +released his captain and the sheriff, the gypsy had been gone for some +minutes. + +"But she shan't escape us," Riach cried, and hastened out to assist in +the pursuit. + +Halliwell was in such a furious temper that he called up Davidson and +admonished him for neglect of duty. + + + + +Chapter Eight. + +3 A.M.--MONSTROUS AUDACITY OF THE WOMAN. + + +Not till the stroke of three did Gavin turn homeward, with the legs of +a ploughman, and eyes rebelling against over-work. Seeking to comfort +his dejected people, whose courage lay spilt on the brae, he had been +in as many houses as the policemen. The soldiers marching through the +wynds came frequently upon him, and found it hard to believe that he +was always the same one. They told afterwards that Thrums was +remarkable for the ferocity of its women, and the number of its little +ministers. The morning was nipping cold, and the streets were +deserted, for the people had been ordered within doors. As he crossed +the Roods, Gavin saw a gleam of red-coats. In the back wynd he heard a +bugle blown. A stir in the Banker's close spoke of another seizure. At +the top of the school wynd two policeman, of whom one was Wearyworld, +stopped the minister with the flash of a lantern. + +"We dauredna let you pass, sir," the Tilliedrum man said, "without a +good look at you. That's the orders." + +"I hereby swear," said Wearyworld, authoritatively, "that this is no +the Egyptian. Signed, Peter Spens, policeman, called by the vulgar, +Wearyworld. Mr. Dishart, you can pass, unless you'll bide a wee and +gie us your crack." + +"You have not found the gypsy, then?" Gavin asked. + +"No," the other policeman said, "but we ken she's within cry o' this +very spot, and escape she canna." + +"What mortal man can do," Wearyworld said, "we're doing: ay, and +mair, but she's auld wecht, and may find bilbie in queer places. Mr. +Dishart, my official opinion is that this Egyptian is fearsomely like +my snuff-spoon. I've kent me drap that spoon on the fender, and be +beat to find it in an hour. And yet, a' the time I was sure it was +there. This is a gey mysterious world, and women's the uncanniest +things in't. It's hardly mous to think how uncanny they are." + +"This one deserves to be punished," Gavin said, firmly; "she incited +the people to riot." + +"She did," agreed Wearyworld, who was supping ravenously on +sociability; "ay, she even tried her tricks on me, so that them that +kens no better thinks she fooled me. But she's cracky. To gie her her +due, she's cracky, and as for her being a cuttie, you've said yoursel, +Mr. Dishart, that we're all desperately wicked. But we're sair tried. +Has it ever struck you that the trouts bites best on the Sabbath? +God's critturs tempting decent men." + +"Come alang," cried the Tilliedrum man, impatiently. + +"I'm coming, but I maun give Mr. Dishart permission to pass first. Hae +you heard, Mr. Dishart," Wearyworld whispered, "that the Egyptian +diddled baith the captain and the shirra? It's my official opinion +that she's no better than a roasted onion, the which, if you grip it +firm, jumps out o' sicht, leaving its coat in your fingers. Mr. +Dishart, you can pass." + +The policeman turned down the school wynd, and Gavin, who had already +heard exaggerated accounts of the strange woman's escape from the +town-house, proceeded along the Tenements. He walked in the black +shadows of the houses, though across the way there was the morning +light. + +In talking of the gypsy, the little minister had, as it were, put on +the black cap; but now, even though he shook his head angrily with +every thought of her, the scene in Windyghoul glimmered before his +eyes. Sometimes when he meant to frown he only sighed, and then +having sighed he shook himself. He was unpleasantly conscious of his +right hand, which had flung the divit. Ah, she was shameless, and it +would be a bright day for Thrums that saw the last of her. He hoped +the policemen would succeed in----. It was the gladsomeness of +innocence that he had seen dancing in the moonlight. A mere woman +could not be like that. How soft----. And she had derided him; he, the +Auld Licht minister of Thrums, had been flouted before his people by a +hussy. She was without reverence, she knew no difference between an +Auld Licht minister, whose duty it was to speak and hers to listen, +and herself. This woman deserved to be----. And the look she cast +behind her as she danced and sang! It was sweet, so wistful; the +presence of purity had silenced him. Purity! Who had made him fling +that divit? He would think no more of her. Let it suffice that he knew +what she was. He would put her from his thoughts. Was it a ring on her +finger? + +Fifty yards in front of him Gavin saw the road end in a wall of +soldiers. They were between him and the manse, and he was still in +darkness. No sound reached him, save the echo of his own feet. But was +it an echo? He stopped, and turned round sharply. Now he heard +nothing, he saw nothing. Yet was not that a human figure standing +motionless in the shadow behind? + +He walked on, and again heard the sound. Again he looked behind, but +this time without stopping. The figure was following him. He stopped. +So did it. He turned back, but it did not move. It was the Egyptian! + +Gavin knew her, despite the lane of darkness, despite the long cloak +that now concealed even her feet, despite the hood over her head. She +was looking quite respectable, but he knew her. + +He neither advanced to her nor retreated. Could the unhappy girl not +see that she was walking into the arms of the soldiers? But doubtless +she had been driven from all her hiding-places. For a moment Gavin had +it in his heart to warn her. But it was only for a moment. The next a +sudden horror shot through him. She was stealing toward him, so softly +that he had not seen her start. The woman had designs on him! Gavin +turned from her. He walked so quickly that judges would have said he +ran. + +The soldiers, I have said, stood in the dim light. Gavin had almost +reached them, when a little hand touched his arm. + +"Stop," cried the sergeant, hearing some one approaching, and then +Gavin stepped out of the darkness with the gypsy on his arm. + +"It is you, Mr. Dishart," said the sergeant, "and your lady?" + +"I----," said Gavin. + +His lady pinched his arm. + +"Yes," she answered, in an elegant English voice that made Gavin stare +at her, "but, indeed, I am sorry I ventured into the streets to-night. +I thought I might be able to comfort some of these unhappy people, +captain, but I could do little, sadly little." + +"It is no scene for a lady, ma'am, but your husband has----. Did you +speak, Mr. Dishart?" + +"Yes, I must inf----" + +"My dear," said the Egyptian, "I quite agree with you, so we need not +detain the captain." + +"I'm only a sergeant, ma'am." + +"Indeed!" said the Egyptian, raising her pretty eyebrows, "and how +long are you to remain in Thrums, sergeant?" + +"Only for a few hours, Mrs. Dishart. If this gypsy lassie had not +given us so much trouble, we might have been gone by now." + +[Illustration: "I HOPE YOU WILL CATCH HER, SERGEANT."] + +"Ah, yes, I hope you will catch her, sergeant." + +"Sergeant," said Gavin, firmly, "I must----" + +"You must, indeed, dear," said the Egyptian, "for you are sadly tired. +Good-night, sergeant." + +"Your servant, Mrs. Dishart. Your servant, sir." + +"But----," cried Gavin. + +"Come, love," said the Egyptian, and she walked the distracted +minister through the soldiers and up the manse road. + +The soldiers left behind, Gavin flung her arm from him, and, standing +still, shook his fist in her face. + +"You--you--woman!" he said. + +This, I think, was the last time he called her a woman. + +But she was clapping her hands merrily. + +"It was beautiful!" she exclaimed. + +"It was iniquitous!" he answered. "And I a minister!" + +"You can't help that," said the Egyptian, who pitied all ministers +heartily. + +"No," Gavin said, misunderstanding her, "I could not help it. No blame +attaches to me." + +"I meant that you could not help being a minister. You could have +helped saving me, and I thank you so much." + +"Do not dare to thank me. I forbid you to say that I saved you. I did +my best to hand you over to the authorities." + +"Then why did you not hand me over?" + +Gavin groaned. + +"All you had to say," continued the merciless Egyptian, "was, 'This is +the person you are in search of.' I did not have my hand over your +mouth. Why did you not say it?" + +"Forbear!" said Gavin, woefully. + +"It must have been," the gypsy said, "because you really wanted to +help me." + +"Then it was against my better judgment," said Gavin. + +"I am glad of that," said the gypsy. "Mr. Dishart, I do believe you +like me all the time." + +"Can a man like a woman against his will?" Gavin blurted out. + +"Of course he can," said the Egyptian, speaking as one who knew. "That +is the very nicest way to be liked." + +Seeing how agitated Gavin was, remorse filled her, and she said in a +wheedling voice-- + +"It is all over, and no one will know." + +Passion sat on the minister's brow, but he said nothing, for the +gypsy's face had changed with her voice, and the audacious woman was +become a child. + +"I am very sorry," she said, as if he had caught her stealing jam. The +hood had fallen back, and she looked pleadingly at him. She had the +appearance of one who was entirely in his hands. + +There was a torrent of words in Gavin, but only these trickled +forth-- + +"I don't understand you." + +"You are not angry any more?" pleaded the Egyptian. + +"Angry!" he cried, with the righteous rage of one who when his leg is +being sawn off is asked gently if it hurts him. + +"I know you are," she sighed, and the sigh meant that men are +strange. + +"Have you no respect for law and order?" demanded Gavin. + +"Not much," she answered, honestly. + +He looked down the road to where the red-coats were still visible, and +his face became hard. She read his thoughts. + +"No," she said, becoming a woman again, "It is not yet too late. Why +don't you shout to them?" + +She was holding herself like a queen, but there was no stiffness in +her. They might have been a pair of lovers, and she the wronged one. +Again she looked timidly at him, and became beautiful in a new way. +Her eyes said that he was very cruel, and she was only keeping back +her tears till he had gone. More dangerous than her face was her +manner, which gave Gavin the privilege of making her unhappy; it +permitted him to argue with her; it never implied that though he raged +at her he must stand afar off; it called him a bully, but did not end +the conversation. + +Now (but perhaps I should not tell this) unless she is his wife a man +is shot with a thrill of exultation every time a pretty woman allows +him to upbraid her. + +"I do not understand you," Gavin repeated weakly, and the gypsy bent +her head under this terrible charge. + +"Only a few hours ago," he continued, "you were a gypsy girl in a +fantastic dress, barefooted----" + +The Egyptian's bare foot at once peeped out mischievously from beneath +the cloak, then again retired into hiding. + +"You spoke as broadly," complained the minister, somewhat taken aback +by this apparition, "as any woman in Thrums, and now you fling a cloak +over your shoulders, and immediately become a fine lady. Who are +you?" + +"Perhaps," answered the Egyptian, "it is the cloak that has bewitched +me." She slipped out of it. "Ay, ay, ou losh!" she said, as if +surprised, "it was just the cloak that did it, for now I'm a puir +ignorant bit lassie again. My, certie, but claithes does make a differ +to a woman!" + +This was sheer levity, and Gavin walked scornfully away from it. + +"Yet, if you will not tell me who you are," he said, looking over his +shoulder, "tell me where you got the cloak." + +"Na faags," replied the gypsy out of the cloak. "Really, Mr. Dishart, +you had better not ask," she added, replacing it over her. + +She followed him, meaning to gain the open by the fields to the north +of the manse. + +"Good-bye," she said, holding out her hand, "if you are not to give me +up." + +"I am not a policeman," replied Gavin, but he would not take her +hand. + +"Surely, we part friends, then?" said the Egyptian, sweetly. + +"No," Gavin answered. "I hope never to see your face again." + +"I cannot help," the Egyptian said, with dignity, "your not liking my +face." Then, with less dignity, she added, "There is a splotch of mud +on your own, little minister; it came off the divit you flung at the +captain." + +With this parting shot she tripped past him, and Gavin would not let +his eyes follow her. It was not the mud on his face that distressed +him, nor even the hand that had flung the divit. It was the word +"little." Though even Margaret was not aware of it, Gavin's shortness +had grieved him all his life. There had been times when he tried to +keep the secret from himself. In his boyhood he had sought a remedy by +getting his larger comrades to stretch him. In the company of tall men +he was always self-conscious. In the pulpit he looked darkly at his +congregation when he asked them who, by taking thought, could add a +cubit to his stature. When standing on a hearthrug his heels were +frequently on the fender. In his bedroom he has stood on a footstool +and surveyed himself in the mirror. Once he fastened high heels to his +boots, being ashamed to ask Hendry Munn to do it for him; but this +dishonesty shamed him, and he tore them off. So the Egyptian had put a +needle into his pride, and he walked to the manse gloomily. + +[Illustration: "SURELY, WE PART FRIENDS, THEN?"] + +Margaret was at her window, looking for him, and he saw her though she +did not see him. He was stepping into the middle of the road to +wave his hand to her, when some sudden weakness made him look towards +the fields instead. The Egyptian saw him and nodded thanks for his +interest in her, but he scowled and pretended to be studying the sky. +Next moment he saw her running back to him. + +"There are soldiers at the top of the field," she cried. "I cannot +escape that way." + +"There is no other way," Gavin answered. + +"Will you not help me again?" she entreated. + +She should not have said "again." Gavin shook his head, but pulled her +closer to the manse dyke, for his mother was still in sight. + +"Why do you do that?" the girl asked, quickly, looking round to see if +she were pursued. "Oh, I see," she said, as her eyes fell on the +figure at the window. + +"It is my mother," Gavin said, though he need not have explained, +unless he wanted the gypsy to know that he was a bachelor. + +"Only your mother?" + +"Only! Let me tell you she may suffer more than you for your behaviour +to-night!" + +"How can she?" + +"If you are caught, will it not be discovered that I helped you to +escape?" + +"But you said you did not." + +"Yes, I helped you," Gavin admitted. "My God! what would my +congregation say if they knew I had let you pass yourself off as--as +my wife?" + +He struck his brow, and the Egyptian had the propriety to blush. + +"It is not the punishment from men I am afraid of," Gavin said, +bitterly, "but from my conscience. No, that is not true. I do fear +exposure, but for my mother's sake. Look at her; she is happy, because +she thinks me good and true; she has had such trials as you cannot +know of, and now, when at last I seemed able to do something for her, +you destroy her happiness. You have her life in your hands." + +The Egyptian turned her back upon him, and one of her feet tapped +angrily on the dry ground. Then, child of impulse as she always was, +she flashed an indignant glance at him, and walked quickly down the +road. + +"Where are you going?" he cried. + +"To give myself up. You need not be alarmed; I will clear you." + +There was not a shake in her voice, and she spoke without looking +back. + +"Stop!" Gavin called, but she would not, until his hand touched her +shoulder. + +"What do you want?" she asked. + +"Why--" whispered Gavin, giddily, "why--why do you not hide in the +manse garden?--No one will look for you there." + +There were genuine tears in the gypsy's eyes now. + +"You are a good man," she said; "I like you." + +"Don't say that," Gavin cried in horror. "There is a summer-seat in +the garden." + +[Illustration: "'WHAT DO YOU WANT?' SHE ASKED."] + +Then he hurried from her, and without looking to see if she took his +advice, hastened to the manse. Once inside, he snibbed the door. + + + + +Chapter Nine. + +THE WOMAN CONSIDERED IN ABSENCE--ADVENTURES OF A MILITARY CLOAK. + + +About six o'clock Margaret sat up suddenly in bed, with the conviction +that she had slept in. To her this was to ravel the day: a dire thing. +The last time it happened Gavin, softened by her distress, had +condensed morning worship into a sentence that she might make up on +the clock. + +Her part on waking was merely to ring her bell, and so rouse Jean, for +Margaret had given Gavin a promise to breakfast in bed, and remain +there till her fire was lit. Accustomed all her life, however, to +early rising, her feet were usually on the floor before she remembered +her vow, and then it was but a step to the window to survey the +morning. To Margaret, who seldom went out, the weather was not of +great moment, while it mattered much to Gavin, yet she always thought +of it the first thing, and he not at all until he had to decide +whether his companion should be an umbrella or a staff. + +On this morning Margaret only noticed that there had been rain since +Gavin came in. Forgetting that the water obscuring the outlook was on +the other side of the panes, she tried to brush it away with her fist. +It was of the soldiers she was thinking. They might have been awaiting +her appearance at the window as their signal to depart, for hardly had +she raised the blind when they began their march out of Thrums. From +the manse she could not see them, but she heard them, and she saw some +people at the Tenements run to their houses at sound of the drum. +Other persons, less timid, followed the enemy with execrations halfway +to Tilliedrum. Margaret, the only person, as it happened, then awake +in the manse, stood listening for some time. In the summer-seat of the +garden, however, there was another listener protected from her sight +by thin spars. + +Despite the lateness of the hour Margaret was too soft-hearted to +rouse Jean, who had lain down in her clothes, trembling for her +father. She went instead into Gavin's room to look admiringly at him +as he slept. Often Gavin woke to find that his mother had slipped in +to save him the enormous trouble of opening a drawer for a clean +collar, or of pouring the water into the basin with his own hand. +Sometimes he caught her in the act of putting thick socks in the place +of thin ones, and it must be admitted that her passion for keeping his +belongings in boxes, and the boxes in secret places, and the secret +places at the back of drawers, occasionally led to their being lost +when wanted. "They are safe, at any rate, for I put them away some +gait," was then Margaret's comfort, but less soothing to Gavin. Yet if +he upbraided her in his hurry, it was to repent bitterly his temper +the next instant, and to feel its effects more than she, temper being +a weapon that we hold by the blade. When he awoke and saw her in his +room he would pretend, unless he felt called upon to rage at her for +self-neglect, to be still asleep, and then be filled with tenderness +for her. A great writer has spoken sadly of the shock it would be to a +mother to know her boy as he really is, but I think she often knows +him better than he is known to cynical friends. We should be slower to +think that the man at his worst is the real man, and certain that the +better we are ourselves the less likely is he to be at his worst in +our company. Every time he talks away his own character before us he +is signifying contempt for ours. + +On this morning Margaret only opened Gavin's door to stand and look, +for she was fearful of awakening him after his heavy night. Even +before she saw that he still slept she noticed with surprise that, for +the first time since he came to Thrums, he had put on his shutters. +She concluded that he had done this lest the light should rouse him. +He was not sleeping pleasantly, for now he put his open hand before +his face, as if to guard himself, and again he frowned and seemed to +draw back from something. He pointed his finger sternly to the north, +ordering the weavers, his mother thought, to return to their homes, +and then he muttered to himself so that she heard the words, "And if +thy right hand offend thee cut it off, and cast it from thee, for it +is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not +that thy whole body should be cast into hell." Then suddenly he bent +forward, his eyes open and fixed on the window. Thus he sat, for the +space of half a minute, like one listening with painful intentness. +When he lay back Margaret slipped away. She knew he was living the +night over again, but not of the divit his right hand had cast, nor of +the woman in the garden. + +Gavin was roused presently by the sound of voices from Margaret's +room, where Jean, who had now gathered much news, was giving it to her +mistress. Jean's cheerfulness would have told him that her father was +safe had he not wakened to thoughts of the Egyptian. I suppose he was +at the window in an instant, unsnibbing the shutters and looking out +as cautiously as a burglar might have looked in. The Egyptian was gone +from the summer-seat. He drew a great breath. + +But his troubles were not over. He had just lifted his ewer of water +when these words from the kitchen capsized it:-- + +"Ay, an Egyptian. That's what the auld folk call a gypsy. Weel, Mrs. +Dishart, she led police and sojers sic a dance through Thrums as would +baffle description, though I kent the fits and fors o't as I dinna. +Ay, but they gripped her in the end, and the queer thing is----" + +Gavin listened to no more. He suddenly sat down. The queer thing, of +course, was that she had been caught in his garden. Yes, and doubtless +queerer things about this hussy and her "husband" were being bawled +from door to door. To the girl's probable sufferings he gave no heed. +What kind of man had he been a few hours ago to yield to the +machinations of a woman who was so obviously the devil? Now he saw his +folly in the face. + +The tray in Jean's hands clattered against the dresser, and Gavin +sprang from his chair. He thought it was his elders at the front +door. + +In the parlour he found Margaret sorrowing for those whose mates had +been torn from them, and Jean with a face flushed by talk. On ordinary +occasions the majesty of the minister still cowed Jean, so that she +could only gaze at him without shaking when in church, and then +because she wore a veil. In the manse he was for taking a glance at +sideways and then going away comforted, as a respectable woman may +once or twice in a day look at her brooch in the pasteboard box as a +means of helping her with her work. But with such a to-do in Thrums, +and she the possessor of exclusive information, Jean's reverence for +Gavin only took her to-day as far as the door, where she lingered half +in the parlour and half in the lobby, her eyes turned politely from +the minister, but her ears his entirely. + +"I thought I heard Jean telling you about the capture of the--of an +Egyptian woman," Gavin said to his mother, nervously. + +"Did you cry to me?" Jean asked, turning round longingly. "But maybe +the mistress will tell you about the Egyptian hersel." + +"Has she been taken to Tilliedrum?" Gavin asked in a hollow voice. + +"Sup up your porridge, Gavin," Margaret said. "I'll have no speaking +about this terrible night till you've eaten something." + +"I have no appetite," the minister replied, pushing his plate from +him. "Jean, answer me." + +"'Deed, then," said Jean willingly, "they hinna ta'en her to +Tilliedrum." + +"For what reason?" asked Gavin, his dread increasing. + +"For the reason that they couldna catch her," Jean answered. "She +spirited hersel awa', the magerful crittur." + +"What! But I heard you say----" + +"Ay, they had her aince, but they couldna keep her. It's like a witch +story. They had her safe in the town-house, and baith shirra and +captain guarding her, and syne in a clink she wasna there. A' nicht +they looked for her, but she hadna left so muckle as a foot-print +ahint her, and in the tail of the day they had to up wi' their tap in +their lap and march awa without her." + +Gavin's appetite returned. + +"Has she been seen since the soldiers went away?" he asked, laying +down his spoon with a new fear. "Where is she now?" + +"No human eye has seen her," Jean answered impressively. "Whaur is she +now? Whaur does the flies vanish to in winter? We ken they're some +gait, but whaur?" + +"But what are the people saying about her?" + +"Daft things," said Jean. "Old Charles Yuill gangs the length o' +hinting that she's dead and buried." + +"She could not have buried herself, Jean," Margaret said, mildly. + +"I dinna ken. Charles says she's even capable o' that." + +Then Jean retired reluctantly (but leaving the door ajar) and Gavin +fell to on his porridge. He was now so cheerful that Margaret +wondered. + +"If half the stories about this gypsy be true," she said, "she must be +more than a mere woman." + +"Less, you mean, mother," Gavin said, with conviction. "She is a +woman, and a sinful one." + +"Did you see her, Gavin?" + +"I saw her. Mother, she flouted me!" + +"The daring tawpie!" exclaimed Margaret. + +"She is all that," said the minister. + +"Was she dressed just like an ordinary gypsy body? But you don't +notice clothes much, Gavin." + +"I noticed hers," Gavin said, slowly, "she was in a green and red, I +think, and barefooted." + +"Ay," shouted Jean from the kitchen, startling both of them; "but she +had a lang grey-like cloak too. She was seen jouking up closes in't." + +Gavin rose, considerably annoyed, and shut the parlour door. + +"Was she as bonny as folks say?" asked Margaret. "Jean says they speak +of her beauty as unearthly." + +"Beauty of her kind," Gavin explained learnedly, "is neither earthly +nor heavenly." He was seeing things as they are very clearly now. +"What," he said, "is mere physical beauty? Pooh!" + +"And yet," said Margaret, "the soul surely does speak through the face +to some extent." + +"Do you really think so, mother?" Gavin asked, a little uneasily. + +"I have always noticed it," Margaret said, and then her son sighed. + +"But I would let no face influence me a jot," he said, recovering. + +"Ah, Gavin, I'm thinking I'm the reason you pay so little regard to +women's faces. It's no natural." + +"You've spoilt me, you see, mother, for ever caring for another woman. +I would compare her to you, and then where would she be?" + +"Sometime," Margaret said, "you'll think differently." + +"Never," answered Gavin, with a violence that ended the conversation. + +Soon afterwards he set off for the town, and in passing down the +garden walk cast a guilty glance at the summer-seat. Something black +was lying in one corner of it. He stopped irresolutely, for his mother +was nodding to him from her window. Then he disappeared into the +little arbour. What had caught his eye was a Bible. On the previous +day, as he now remembered, he had been called away while studying in +the garden, and had left his Bible on the summer-seat, a pencil +between its pages. Not often probably had the Egyptian passed a night +in such company. + +But what was this? Gavin had not to ask himself the question. The +gypsy's cloak was lying neatly folded at the other end of the seat. +Why had the woman not taken it with her? Hardly had he put this +question when another stood in front of it. What was to be done with +the cloak? He dared not leave it there for Jean to discover. He could +not take it into the manse in daylight. Beneath the seat was a +tool-chest without a lid, and into this he crammed the cloak. Then, +having turned the box face downwards, he went about his duties. But +many a time during the day he shivered to the marrow, reflecting +suddenly that at this very moment Jean might be carrying the accursed +thing (at arms' length, like a dog in disgrace) to his mother. + +Now let those who think that Gavin has not yet paid toll for taking +the road with the Egyptian, follow the adventures of the cloak. +Shortly after gloaming fell that night Jean encountered her master in +the lobby of the manse. He was carrying something, and when he saw her +he slipped it behind his back. Had he passed her openly she would have +suspected nothing, but this made her look at him. + +"Why do you stare so, Jean?" Gavin asked, conscience-stricken, and +he stood with his back to the wall until she had retired in +bewilderment. + +"I have noticed her watching me sharply all day," he said to himself, +though it was only he who had been watching her. + +Gavin carried the cloak to his bedroom, thinking to lock it away in +his chest, but it looked so wicked lying there that he seemed to see +it after the lid was shut. + +The garret was the best place for it. He took it out of the chest and +was opening his door gently, when there was Jean again. She had been +employed very innocently in his mother's room, but he said tartly-- + +"Jean, I really cannot have this," which sent Jean to the kitchen with +her apron at her eyes. + +Gavin stowed the cloak beneath the garret bed, and an hour afterwards +was engaged on his sermon, when he distinctly heard some one in the +garret. He ran up the ladder with a terrible brow for Jean, but it was +not Jean; it was Margaret. + +"Mother," he said in alarm, "what are you doing here?" + +"I am only tidying up the garret, Gavin." + +"Yes, but--it is too cold for you. Did Jean--did Jean ask you to come +up here?" + +"Jean? She knows her place better." + +Gavin took Margaret down to the parlour, but his confidence in the +garret had gone. He stole up the ladder again, dragged the cloak +from its lurking place, and took it into the garden. He very nearly +met Jean in the lobby again, but hearing him coming she fled +precipitately, which he thought very suspicious. + +In the garden he dug a hole, and there buried the cloak, but even now +he was not done with it. He was wakened early by a noise of scraping +in the garden, and his first thought was "Jean!" But peering from the +window, he saw that the resurrectionist was a dog, which already had +its teeth in the cloak. + +That forenoon Gavin left the manse unostentatiously carrying a +brown-paper parcel. He proceeded to the hill, and having dropped the +parcel there, retired hurriedly. On his way home, nevertheless, he was +over-taken by D. Fittis, who had been cutting down whins. Fittis had +seen the parcel fall, and running after Gavin, returned it to him. +Gavin thanked D. Fittis, and then sat down gloomily on the cemetery +dyke. Half an hour afterwards he flung the parcel into a Tillyloss +garden. + +In the evening Margaret had news for him, got from Jean. + +"Do you remember, Gavin, that the Egyptian every one is still speaking +of, wore a long cloak? Well, would you believe it, the cloak was +Captain Halliwell's, and she took it from the town-house when she +escaped. She is supposed to have worn it inside out. He did not +discover that it was gone until he was leaving Thrums." + +"Mother, is this possible?" Gavin said. + +"The policeman, Wearyworld, has told it. He was ordered, it seems, to +look for the cloak quietly, and to take any one into custody in whose +possession it was found." + +"Has it been found?" + +"No." + +The minister walked out of the parlour, for he could not trust his +face. What was to be done now? The cloak was lying in mason Baxter's +garden, and Baxter was therefore, in all probability, within +four-and-twenty hours of the Tilliedrum gaol. + +"Does Mr. Dishart ever wear a cap at nichts?" Femie Wilkie asked Sam'l +Fairweather three hours later. + +"Na, na, he has ower muckle respect for his lum hat," answered Sam'l; +"and richtly, for it's the crowning stone o' the edifice." + +"Then it couldna hae been him I met at the back o' Tillyloss the now," +said Femie, "though like him it was. He joukit back when he saw me." + +While Femie was telling her story in the Tenements, mason Baxter, +standing at the window which looked into his garden, was shouting, +"Wha's that in my yard?" There was no answer, and Baxter closed his +window, under the impression that he had been speaking to a cat. The +man in the cap then emerged from the corner where he had been +crouching, and stealthily felt for something among the cabbages and +pea sticks. It was no longer there, however, and by-and-by he retired +empty-handed. + +"The Egyptian's cloak has been found," Margaret was able to tell Gavin +next day. "Mason Baxter found it yesterday afternoon." + +"In his garden?" Gavin asked hurriedly. + +"No; in the quarry, he says, but according to Jean he is known not to +have been at the quarry to-day. Some seem to think that the gypsy gave +him the cloak for helping her to escape, and that he has delivered it +up lest he should get into difficulties." + +"Whom has he given it to, mother?" Gavin asked. + +"To the policeman." + +"And has Wearyworld sent it back to Halliwell?" + +"Yes. He told Jean he sent it off at once, with the information that +the masons had found it in the quarry." + +The next day was Sabbath, when a new trial, now to be told, awaited +Gavin in the pulpit; but it had nothing to do with the cloak, of which +I may here record the end. Wearyworld had not forwarded it to its +owner; Meggy, his wife, took care of that. It made its reappearance in +Thrums, several months after the riot, as two pairs of Sabbath breeks +for her sons, James and Andrew. + + + + +Chapter Ten. + +FIRST SERMON AGAINST WOMEN. + + +On the afternoon of the following Sabbath, as I have said, something +strange happened in the Auld Licht pulpit. The congregation, despite +their troubles, turned it over and peered at it for days, but had they +seen into the inside of it they would have weaved few webs until the +session had sat on the minister. The affair baffled me at the time, +and for the Egyptian's sake I would avoid mentioning it now, were it +not one of Gavin's milestones. It includes the first of his memorable +sermons against Woman. + +I was not in the Auld Licht church that day, but I heard of the sermon +before night, and this, I think, is as good an opportunity as another +for showing how the gossip about Gavin reached me up here in the Glen +school-house. Since Margaret and her son came to the manse I had kept +the vow made to myself and avoided Thrums. Only once had I ventured to +the kirk, and then, instead of taking my old seat, the fourth from the +pulpit, I sat down near the plate, where I could look at Margaret +without her seeing me. To spare her that agony I even stole away as +the last word of the benediction was pronounced, and my haste +scandalised many, for with Auld Lichts it is not customary to retire +quickly from the church after the manner of the godless U. P.'s (and +the Free Kirk is little better), who have their hats in their hand +when they rise for the benediction, so that they may at once pour out +like a burst dam. We resume our seats, look straight before us, clear +our throats and stretch out our hands for our womenfolk to put our +hats into them. In time we do get out, but I am never sure how. + +One may gossip in a glen on Sabbaths, though not in a town, without +losing his character, and I used to await the return of my neighbour, +the farmer of Waster Lunny, and of Silva Birse, the Glen Quharity +post, at the end of the school-house path. Waster Lunny was a man +whose care in his leisure hours was to keep from his wife his great +pride in her. His horse, Catlaw, on the other hand, he told outright +what he thought of it, praising it to its face and blackguarding it as +it deserved, and I have seen him when completely baffled by the brute, +sit down before it on a stone and thus harangue: "You think you're +clever, Catlaw, my lass, but you're mista'en. You're a thrawn limmer, +that's what you are. You think you have blood in you. You hae blood! +Gae away, and dinna blether. I tell you what, Catlaw, I met a man +yestreen that kent your mither, and he says she was a feikie +fushionless besom. What do you say to that?" + +As for the post, I will say no more of him than that his bitter topic +was the unreasonableness of humanity, which treated him graciously +when he had a letter for it, but scowled at him when he had none, "aye +implying that I hae a letter, but keep it back." + +On the Sabbath evening after the riot, I stood at the usual place +awaiting my friends, and saw before they reached me that they had +something untoward to tell. The farmer, his wife and three children, +holding each other's hands, stretched across the road. Birse was a +little behind, but a conversation was being kept up by shouting. All +were walking the Sabbath pace, and the family having started half a +minute in advance, the post had not yet made up on them. + +"It's sitting to snaw," Waster Lunny said, drawing near, and just as I +was to reply, "It is so," Silva slipped in the words before me. + +"You wasna at the kirk," was Elspeth's salutation. I had been at the +Glen church, but did not contradict her, for it is Established, and so +neither here nor there. I was anxious, too, to know what their long +faces meant, and so asked at once-- + +"Was Mr. Dishart on the riot?" + +"Forenoon, ay; afternoon, no," replied Waster Lunny, walking round his +wife to get nearer me. "Dominie, a queery thing happened in the kirk +this day, sic as----" + +"Waster Lunny," interrupted Elspeth sharply; "have you on your Sabbath +shoon or have you no on your Sabbath shoon?" + +"Guid care you took I should hae the dagont oncanny things on," +retorted the farmer. + +"Keep out o' the gutter, then," said Elspeth, "on the Lord's day." + +"Him," said her man, "that is forced by a foolish woman to wear +genteel 'lastic-sided boots canna forget them till he takes them aff. +Whaur's the extra reverence in wearing shoon twa sizes ower sma?" + +"It mayna be mair reverent," suggested Birse, to whom Elspeth's +kitchen was a pleasant place, "but it's grand, and you canna expect to +be baith grand and comfortable." + +I reminded them that they were speaking of Mr. Dishart. + +"We was saying," began the post briskly, "that----" + +"It was me that was saying it," said Waster Lunny. "So, dominie----" + +"Haud your gabs, baith o' you," interrupted Elspeth. "You've been +roaring the story to ane another till you're hoarse." + +"In the forenoon," Waster Lunny went on determinedly, "Mr. Dishart +preached on the riot, and fine he was. Oh, dominie, you should hae +heard him ladling it on to Lang Tammas, no by name but in sic a way +that there was no mistaking wha he was preaching at, Sal! oh losh! +Tammas got it strong." + +"But he's dull in the uptake," broke in the post, "by what I expected. +I spoke to him after the sermon, and I says, just to see if he was +properly humbled, 'Ay, Tammas,' I says, 'them that discourse was +preached against, winna think themselves seven feet men for a while +again.' 'Ay, Birse,' he answers, 'and glad I am to hear you admit it, +for he had you in his eye.' I was fair scunnered at Tammas the day." + +"Mr. Dishart was preaching at the whole clanjamfray o' you," said +Elspeth. + +"Maybe he was," said her husband, leering; "but you needna cast it at +us, for, my certie, if the men got it frae him in the forenoon, the +women got it in the afternoon." + +"He redd them up most michty," said the post. "Thae was his very words +or something like them. 'Adam,' says he, 'was an erring man, but aside +Eve he was respectable.'" + +"Ay, but it wasna a' women he meant," Elspeth explained, "for when he +said that, he pointed his finger direct at T'nowhead's lassie, and I +hope it'll do her good." + +"But I wonder," I said, "that Mr. Dishart chose such a subject to-day. +I thought he would be on the riot at both services." + +"You'll wonder mair," said Elspeth, "when you hear what happened afore +he began the afternoon sermon. But I canna get in a word wi' that man +o' mine." + +"We've been speaking about it," said Birse, "ever since we left the +kirk door. Tod, we've been sawing it like seed a' alang the glen." + +"And we meant to tell you about it at once," said Waster Lunny; "but +there's aye so muckle to say about a minister. Dagont, to hae ane +keeps a body out o' langour. Ay, but this breaks the drum. Dominie, +either Mr. Dishart wasna weel, or he was in the devil's grip." + +This startled me, for the farmer was looking serious. + +"He was weel eneuch," said Birse, "for a heap o' fowk speired at Jean +if he had ta'en his porridge as usual, and she admitted he had. But +the lassie was skeered hersel', and said it was a mercy Mrs. Dishart +wasna in the kirk." + +"Why was she not there?" I asked anxiously. + +"Oh, he winna let her out in sic weather." + +"I wish you would tell me what happened," I said to Elspeth. + +"So I will," she answered, "if Waster Lunny would haud his wheesht for +a minute. You see the afternoon diet began in the ordinary way, and a' +was richt until we came to the sermon. 'You will find my text,' he +says, in his piercing voice, 'in the eighth chapter of Ezra.'" + +"And at thae words," said Waster Lunny, "my heart gae a loup, for Ezra +is an unca ill book to find; ay, and so is Ruth." + +"I kent the books o' the Bible by heart," said Elspeth, scornfully, +"when I was a sax year auld." + +"So did I," said Waster Lunny, "and I ken them yet, except when I'm +hurried. When Mr. Dishart gave out Ezra he a sort o' keeked round the +kirk to find out if he had puzzled onybody, and so there was a kind o' +a competition among the congregation wha would lay hand on it first. +That was what doited me. Ay, there was Ruth when she wasna wanted, but +Ezra, dagont, it looked as if Ezra had jumped clean out o' the +Bible." + +"You wasna the only distressed crittur," said his wife. "I was ashamed +to see Eppie McLaren looking up the order o' the books at the +beginning o' the Bible." + +"Tibbie Birse was even mair brazen," said the post, "for the sly +cuttie opened at Kings and pretended it was Ezra." + +"None o' thae things would I do," said Waster Lunny, "and sal, I +dauredna, for Davit Lunan was glowering over my shuther. Ay, you may +scrowl at me, Elspeth Proctor, but as far back as I can mind, Ezra has +done me. Mony a time afore I start for the kirk I take my Bible to a +quiet place and look Ezra up. In the very pew I says canny to mysel', +'Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, Job,' the which should be a help, but the +moment the minister gi'es out that awfu' book, away goes Ezra like the +Egyptian." + +"And you after her," said Elspeth, "like the weavers that wouldna +fecht. You make a windmill of your Bible." + +"Oh, I winna admit I'm beat. Never mind, there's queer things in the +world forby Ezra. How is cripples aye so puffed up mair than other +folk? How does flour-bread aye fall on the buttered side?" + +"I will mind," Elspeth said, "for I was terrified the minister would +admonish you frae the pulpit." + +"He couldna hae done that, for was he no baffled to find Ezra +himsel'?" + +"Him no find Ezra!" cried Elspeth. "I hae telled you a dozen times he +found it as easy as you could yoke a horse." + +"The thing can be explained in no other way," said her husband, +doggedly, "if he was weel and in sound mind." + +"Maybe the dominie can clear it up," suggested the post, "him being a +scholar." + +"Then tell me what happened," I asked. + +"Godsake, hae we no telled you?" Birse said. "I thocht we had." + +"It was a terrible scene," said Elspeth, giving her husband a shove. +"As I said, Mr. Dishart gave out Ezra eighth. Weel, I turned it up in +a jiffy, and syne looked cautiously to see how Eppie McLaren was +getting on. Just at that minute I heard a groan frae the pulpit. It +didna stop short o' a groan. Ay, you may be sure I looked quick at the +minister, and there I saw a sicht that would hae made the grandest +gape. His face was as white as a baker's, and he had a sort of fallen +against the back o' the pulpit, staring demented-like at his open +Bible." + +"And I saw him," said Birse, "put up his hand atween him and the Book, +as if he thocht it was to jump at him." + +"Twice," said Elspeth, "he tried to speak, and twice he let the words +fall." + +"That," says Waster Lunny, "the whole congregation admits, but I didna +see it mysel', for a' this time you may picture me hunting savage-like +for Ezra. I thocht the minister was waiting till I found it." + +"Hendry Munn," said Birse, "stood upon one leg, wondering whether he +should run to the session-house for a glass of water." + +"But by that time," said Elspeth, "the fit had left Mr. Dishart, or +rather it had ta'en a new turn. He grew red, and it's gospel that he +stamped his foot." + +"He had the face of one using bad words," said the post. "He didna +swear, of course, but that was the face he had on." + +"I missed it," said Waster Lunny, "for I was in full cry after Ezra, +with the sweat running down my face." + +"But the most astounding thing has yet to be telled," went on Elspeth. +"The minister shook himsel' like one wakening frae a nasty dream, and +he cries in a voice of thunder, just as if he was shaking his fist at +somebody----" + +"He cries," Birse interposed, cleverly, "he cries, 'You will find the +text in Genesis, chapter three, verse six.'" + +"Yes," said Elspeth, "first he gave out one text, and then he gave out +another, being the most amazing thing to my mind that ever happened in +the town of Thrums. What will our children's children think o't? I +wouldna hae missed it for a pound note." + +"Nor me," said Waster Lunny, "though I only got the tail o't. Dominie, +no sooner had he said Genesis third and sixth, than I laid my finger +on Ezra. Was it no provoking? Onybody can turn up Genesis, but it +needs an able-bodied man to find Ezra." + +"He preached on the Fall," Elspeth said, "for an hour and twenty-five +minutes, but powerful though he was I would rather he had telled us +what made him gie the go-by to Ezra." + +"All I can say," said Waster Lunny, "is that I never heard him mair +awe-inspiring. Whaur has he got sic a knowledge of women? He riddled +them, he fair riddled them, till I was ashamed o' being married." + +"It's easy kent whaur he got his knowledge of women," Birse explained, +"it's a' in the original Hebrew. You can howk ony mortal thing out o' +the original Hebrew, the which all ministers hae at their finger ends. +What else makes them ken to jump a verse now and then when giving out +a psalm?" + +"It wasna women like me he denounced," Elspeth insisted, "but young +lassies that leads men astray wi' their abominable wheedling ways." + +"Tod," said her husband, "if they try their hands on Mr. Dishart +they'll meet their match." + +"They will," chuckled the post. "The Hebrew's a grand thing, though +teuch, I'm telled, michty teuch." + +"His sublimest burst," Waster Lunny came back to tell me, "was about +the beauty o' the soul being everything and the beauty o' the face no +worth a snuff. What a scorn he has for bonny faces and toom souls! I +dinna deny but what a bonny face fell takes me, but Mr. Dishart +wouldna gie a blade o' grass for't. Ay, and I used to think that in +their foolishness about women there was dagont little differ atween +the unlearned and the highly edicated." + +The gossip about Gavin brought hitherto to the school-house had been +as bread to me, but this I did not like. For a minister to behave thus +was as unsettling to us as a change of Government to Londoners, and I +decided to give my scholars a holiday on the morrow and tramp into the +town for fuller news. But all through the night it snowed, and next +day, and then intermittently for many days, and every fall took the +school miles farther away from Thrums. Birse and the crows had now the +glen road to themselves, and even Birse had twice or thrice to bed +with me. At these times had he not been so interested in describing +his progress through the snow, maintaining that the crying want of our +glen road was palings for postmen to kick their feet against, he must +have wondered why I always turned the talk to the Auld Licht +minister. + +"Ony explanation o' his sudden change o' texts?" Birse said, repeating +my question. "Tod, and there is and to spare, for I hear tell there's +saxteen explanations in the Tenements alone. As Tammas Haggart says, +that's a blessing, for if there had just been twa explanations the +kirk micht hae split on them." + +"Ay," he said at another time, "twa or three even dared to question +the minister, but I'm thinking they made nothing o't. The majority +agrees that he was just inspired to change his text. But Lang Tammas +is dour. Tammas telled the session a queer thing. He says that after +the diet o' worship on that eventful afternoon Mr. Dishart carried the +Bible out o' the pulpit instead o' leaving that duty as usual to the +kirk-officer. Weel, Tammas, being precentor, has a richt, as you ken, +to leave the kirk by the session-house door, just like the minister +himsel'. He did so that afternoon, and what, think you, did he see? He +saw Mr. Dishart tearing a page out o' the Bible, and flinging it +savagely into the session-house fire. You dinna credit it? Weel, it's +staggering, but there's Hendry Munn's evidence too. Hendry took his +first chance o' looking up Ezra in the minister's Bible, and, behold, +the page wi' the eighth chapter was gone. Them that thinks Tammas +wasna blind wi' excitement hauds it had been Ezra eighth that gaed +into the fire. Onyway, there's no doubt about the page's being +missing, for whatever excitement Tammas was in, Hendry was as cool as +ever." + +A week later Birse told me that the congregation had decided to regard +the incident as adding lustre to their kirk. This was largely, I fear, +because it could then be used to belittle the Established minister. +That fervent Auld Licht, Snecky Hobart, feeling that Gavin's action +was unsound, had gone on the following Sabbath to the parish kirk and +sat under Mr. Duthie. But Mr. Duthie was a close reader, so that +Snecky flung himself about in his pew in misery. The minister +concluded his sermon with these words: "But on this subject I will say +no more at present." "Because you canna," Snecky roared, and strutted +out of the church. Comparing the two scenes, it is obvious that the +Auld Lichts had won a victory. After preaching impromptu for an hour +and twenty-five minutes, it could never be said of Gavin that he +needed to read. He became more popular than ever. Yet the change of +texts was not forgotten. If in the future any other indictments were +brought against him, it would certainly be pinned to them. + +I marvelled long over Gavin's jump from Ezra to Genesis, and at this +his first philippic against Woman, but I have known the cause for many +a year. The Bible was the one that had lain on the summer-seat while +the Egyptian hid there. It was the great pulpit Bible which remains in +the church as a rule, but Gavin had taken it home the previous day to +make some of its loose pages secure with paste. He had studied from it +on the day preceding the riot, but had used a small Bible during the +rest of the week. When he turned in the pulpit to Ezra, where he had +left the large Bible open in the summer-seat, he found this scrawled +across chapter eight:-- + +"I will never tell who flung the clod at Captain Halliwell. But why +did you fling it? I will never tell that you allowed me to be called +Mrs. Dishart before witnesses. But is not this a Scotch marriage? +Signed, Babbie the Egyptian." + + + + +Chapter Eleven. + +TELLS IN A WHISPER OF MAN'S FALL DURING THE CURLING SEASON. + + +No snow could be seen in Thrums by the beginning of the year, though +clods of it lay in Waster Lunny's fields, where his hens wandered all +day as if looking for something they had dropped. A black frost had +set in, and one walking on the glen road could imagine that through +the cracks in it he saw a loch glistening. From my door I could hear +the roar of curling stones at Rashie-bog, which is almost four miles +nearer Thrums. On the day I am recalling, I see that I only made one +entry in my diary, "At last bought Waster Lunny's bantams." Well do I +remember the transaction, and no wonder, for I had all but bought the +bantams every day for a six months. + +About noon the doctor's dogcart was observed by all the Tenements +standing at the Auld Licht manse. The various surmises were wrong. +Margaret had not been suddenly taken ill; Jean had not swallowed a +darning-needle; the minister had not walked out at his study window in +a moment of sublime thought. Gavin stepped into the dogcart, which at +once drove off in the direction of Rashie-bog, but equally in error +were those who said that the doctor was making a curler of him. + +There was, however, ground for gossip; for Thrums folk seldom called +in a doctor until it was too late to cure them, and McQueen was not +the man to pay social visits. Of his skill we knew fearsome stories, +as that, by looking at Archie Allardyce, who had come to broken bones +on a ladder, he discovered which rung Archie fell from. When he +entered a stuffy room he would poke his staff through the window to +let in fresh air, and then fling down a shilling to pay for the +breakage. He was deaf in the right ear, and therefore usually took the +left side of prosy people, thus, as he explained, making a blessing of +an affliction. "A pity I don't hear better?" I have heard him say. +"Not at all. If my misfortune, as you call it, were to be removed, you +can't conceive how I should miss my deaf ear." He was a fine fellow, +though brusque, and I never saw him without his pipe until two days +before we buried him, which was five-and-twenty years ago come +Martinmas. + +"We're all quite weel," Jean said apprehensively as she answered his +knock on the manse door, and she tried to be pleasant, too, for well +she knew that, if a doctor willed it, she could have fever in five +minutes. + +"Ay, Jean, I'll soon alter that," he replied ferociously. "Is the +master in?" + +"He's at his sermon," Jean said with importance. + +To interrupt the minister at such a moment seemed sacrilege to her, +for her up-bringing had been good. Her mother had once fainted in the +church, but though the family's distress was great, they neither bore +her out, nor signed to the kirk-officer to bring water. They propped +her up in the pew in a respectful attitude, joining in the singing +meanwhile, and she recovered in time to look up 2nd Chronicles, 21st +and 7th. + +"Tell him I want to speak to him at the door," said the doctor +fiercely, "or I'll bleed you this minute." + +McQueen would not enter, because his horse might have seized the +opportunity to return stablewards. At the houses where it was +accustomed to stop, it drew up of its own accord, knowing where the +Doctor's "cases" were as well as himself, but it resented new +patients. + +"You like misery, I think, Mr. Dishart," McQueen said when Gavin came +to him, "at least I am always finding you in the thick of it, and +that is why I am here now. I have a rare job for you if you will jump +into the machine. You know Nanny Webster, who lives on the edge of +Windyghoul? No, you don't, for she belongs to the other kirk. Well, at +all events, you knew her brother, Sanders, the mole-catcher?" + +"I remember him. You mean the man who boasted so much about seeing a +ball at Lord Rintoul's place?" + +"The same, and, as you may know, his boasting about maltreating +policemen whom he never saw led to his being sentenced to nine months +in gaol lately." + +"That is the man," said Gavin. "I never liked him." + +"No, but his sister did," McQueen answered, drily, "and with reason, +for he was her breadwinner, and now she is starving." + +"Anything I can give her----" + +"Would be too little, sir." + +"But the neighbours----" + +"She has few near her, and though the Thrums poor help each other +bravely, they are at present nigh as needy as herself. Nanny is coming +to the poorhouse, Mr. Dishart." + +"God help her!" exclaimed Gavin. + +"Nonsense," said the doctor, trying to make himself a hard man. "She +will be properly looked after there, and--and in time she will like +it." + +"Don't let my mother hear you speaking of taking an old woman to that +place," Gavin said, looking anxiously up the stair. I cannot pretend +that Margaret never listened. + +"You all speak as if the poorhouse was a gaol," the doctor said +testily. "But so far as Nanny is concerned, everything is arranged. I +promised to drive her to the poorhouse to-day, and she is waiting for +me now. Don't look at me as if I was a brute. She is to take some of +her things with her to the poorhouse and the rest is to be left until +Sanders's return, when she may rejoin him. At least we said that to +her to comfort her." + +"You want me to go with you?" + +"Yes, though I warn you it may be a distressing scene; indeed, the +truth is that I am loth to face Nanny alone to-day. Mr. Duthie should +have accompanied me, for the Websters are Established Kirk; ay, and so +he would if Rashie-bog had not been bearing. A terrible snare this +curling, Mr. Dishart"--here the doctor sighed--"I have known Mr. +Duthie wait until midnight struck on Sabbath and then be off to +Rashie-bog with a torch." + +"I will go with you," Gavin said, putting on his coat. + +"Jump in then. You won't smoke? I never see a respectable man not +smoking, sir, but I feel indignant with him for such sheer waste of +time." + +Gavin smiled at this, and Snecky Hobart, who happened to be keeking +over the manse dyke, bore the news to the Tenements. + +"I'll no sleep the nicht," Snecky said, "for wondering what made the +minister lauch. Ay, it would be no trifle." + +A minister, it is certain, who wore a smile on his face would never +have been called to the Auld Licht kirk, for life is a wrestle with +the devil, and only the frivolous think to throw him without taking +off their coats. Yet, though Gavin's zeal was what the congregation +reverenced, many loved him privately for his boyishness. He could +unbend at marriages, of which he had six on the last day of the year, +and at every one of them he joked (the same joke) like a layman. Some +did not approve of his playing at the teetotum for ten minutes with +Kitty Dundas's invalid son, but the way Kitty boasted about it would +have disgusted anybody. At the present day there are probably a score +of Gavins in Thrums, all called after the little minister, and there +is one Gavinia, whom he hesitated to christen. He made humorous +remarks (the same remark) about all these children, and his smile as +he patted their heads was for thinking over when one's work was done +for the day. + +The doctor's horse clattered up the Backwynd noisily, as if a minister +behind made no difference to it. Instead of climbing the Roods, +however, the nearest way to Nanny's, it went westward, which Gavin, in +a reverie, did not notice. The truth must be told. The Egyptian was +again in his head. + +"Have I fallen deaf in the left ear, too?" said the doctor. "I see +your lips moving, but I don't catch a syllable." + +Gavin started, coloured, and flung the gypsy out of the trap. + +"Why are we not going up the Roods?" he asked. + +"Well," said the doctor slowly, "at the top of the Roods there is a +stance for circuses, and this old beast of mine won't pass it. You +know, unless you are behind in the clashes and clavers of Thrums, that +I bought her from the manager of a travelling show. She was the horse +('Lightning' they called her) that galloped round the ring at a mile +an hour, and so at the top of the Roods she is still unmanageable. She +once dragged me to the scene of her former triumphs, and went +revolving round it, dragging the machine after her." + +"If you had not explained that," said Gavin, "I might have thought +that you wanted to pass by Rashie-bog." + +The doctor, indeed, was already standing up to catch a first glimpse +of the curlers. + +"Well," he admitted, "I might have managed to pass the circus ring, +though what I have told you is true. However, I have not come this way +merely to see how the match is going. I want to shame Mr. Duthie for +neglecting his duty. It will help me to do mine, for the Lord knows I +am finding it hard, with the music of these stones in my ears." + +"I never saw it played before," Gavin said, standing up in his turn. +"What a din they make! McQueen, I believe they are fighting!" + +"No, no," said the excited doctor, "they are just a bit daft. That's +the proper spirit for the game. Look, that's the baron-bailie near +standing on his head, and there's Mr. Duthie off his head a' +thegither. Yon's twa weavers and a mason cursing the laird, and the +man wi' the besom is the Master of Crumnathie." + +"A democracy, at all events," said Gavin. + +"By no means," said the doctor, "it's an aristocracy of intellect. Gee +up, Lightning, or the frost will be gone before we are there." + +"It is my opinion, doctor," said Gavin, "that you will have bones to +set before that game is finished. I can see nothing but legs now." + +"Don't say a word against curling, sir, to me," said McQueen, whom the +sight of a game in which he must not play had turned crusty. +"Dangerous! It's the best medicine I know of. Look at that man coming +across the field. It is Jo Strachan. Well, sir, curling saved Jo's +life after I had given him up. You don't believe me? Hie, Jo, Jo +Strachan, come here and tell the minister how curling put you on your +legs again." + +Strachan came forward, a tough, little, wizened man, with red flannel +round his ears to keep out the cold. + +"It's gospel what the doctor says, Mr. Dishart," he declared. "Me and +my brither Sandy was baith ill, and in the same bed, and the doctor +had hopes o' Sandy, but nane o' me. Ay, weel, when I heard that, I +thocht I micht as weel die on the ice as in my bed, so I up and on wi' +my claethes. Sandy was mad at me, for he was no curler, and he says, +'Jo Strachan, if you gang to Rashie-bog you'll assuredly be brocht +hame a corp.' I didna heed him, though, and off I gaed." + +"And I see you did not die," said Gavin. + +"Not me," answered the fish cadger, with a grin. "Na, but the joke o't +is, it was Sandy that died." + +"Not the joke, Jo," corrected the doctor, "the moral." + +"Ay, the moral; I'm aye forgetting the word." + +McQueen, enjoying Gavin's discomfiture, turned Lightning down the +Rashie-bog road, which would be impassable as soon as the thaw came. +In summer Rashie-bog is several fields in which a cart does not sink +unless it stands still, but in winter it is a loch with here and there +a spring where dead men are said to lie. There are no rushes at its +east end, and here the dogcart drew up near the curlers, a crowd of +men dancing, screaming, shaking their fists and sweeping, while half a +hundred onlookers got in their way, gesticulating and advising. + +"Hold me tight," the doctor whispered to Gavin, "or I'll be leaving +you to drive Nanny to the poorhouse by yourself." + +He had no sooner said this than he tried to jump out of the trap. + +"You donnert fule, John Robbie," he shouted to a player, "soop her up, +man, soop her up; no, no, dinna, dinna; leave her alane. Bailie, leave +her alane, you blazing idiot. Mr. Dishart, let me go; what do you +mean, sir, by hanging on to my coat tails? Dang it all, Duthie's +winning. He has it, he has it!" + +"You're to play, doctor?" some cried, running to the dogcart. "We hae +missed you sair." + +"Jeames, I--I--. No, I daurna." + +"Then we get our licks. I never saw the minister in sic form. We can +do nothing against him." + +"Then," cried McQueen, "I'll play. Come what will, I'll play. Let go +my tails, Mr. Dishart, or I'll cut them off. Duty? Fiddlesticks!" + +"Shame on you, sir," said Gavin; "yes, and on you others who would +entice him from his duty." + +"Shame!" the doctor cried. "Look at Mr. Duthie. Is he ashamed? And +yet that man has been reproving me for a twelvemonths because I've +refused to become one of his elders. Duthie," he shouted, "think shame +of yourself for curling this day." + +Mr. Duthie had carefully turned his back to the trap, for Gavin's +presence in it annoyed him. We seldom care to be reminded of our duty +by seeing another do it. Now, however, he advanced to the dogcart, +taking the far side of Gavin. + +"Put on your coat, Mr. Duthie," said the doctor, "and come with me to +Nanny Webster's. You promised." + +Mr. Duthie looked quizzically at Gavin, and then at the sky. + +"The thaw may come at any moment," he said. + +"I think the frost is to hold," said Gavin. + +"It may hold over to-morrow," Mr. Duthie admitted; "but to-morrow's +the Sabbath, and so a lost day." + +"A what?" exclaimed Gavin, horrified. + +"I only mean," Mr. Duthie answered, colouring, "that we can't curl on +the Lord's day. As for what it may be like on Monday, no one can say. +No, doctor, I won't risk it. We're in the middle of a game, man." + +Gavin looked very grave. + +"I see what you are thinking, Mr. Dishart," the old minister said +doggedly; "but then, you don't curl. You are very wise. I have +forbidden my sons to curl." + +"Then you openly snap your fingers at your duty, Mr. Duthie?" said the +doctor, loftily. ("You can let go my tails now, Mr. Dishart, for the +madness has passed.") + +"None of your virtuous airs, McQueen," said Mr. Duthie, hotly. "What +was the name of the doctor that warned women never to have bairns +while it was hauding?" + +"And what," retorted McQueen, "was the name of the minister that told +his session he would neither preach nor pray while the black frost +lasted?" + +"Hoots, doctor," said Duthie, "don't lose your temper because I'm in +such form." + +"Don't lose yours, Duthie, because I aye beat you." + +"You beat me, McQueen! Go home, sir, and don't talk havers. Who beat +you at----" + +"Who made you sing small at----" + +"Who won----" + +"Who----" + +"Who----" + +"I'll play you on Monday for whatever you like!" shrieked the doctor. + +"If it holds," cried the minister, "I'll be here the whole day. Name +the stakes yourself. A stone?" + +"No," the doctor said, "but I'll tell you what we'll play for. You've +been dinging me doited about that eldership, and we'll play for't. If +you win I accept office." + +"Done," said the minister, recklessly. + +The dogcart was now turned toward Windyghoul, its driver once more +good-humoured, but Gavin silent. + +"You would have been the better of my deaf ear just now, Mr. Dishart," +McQueen said after the loch had been left behind. "Aye, and I'm +thinking my pipe would soothe you. But don't take it so much to heart, +man. I'll lick him easily. He's a decent man, the minister, but vain +of his play, ridiculously vain. However, I think the sight of you, in +the place that should have been his, has broken his nerve for this +day, and our side may win yet." + +"I believe," Gavin said, with sudden enlightenment, "that you brought +me here for that purpose." + +"Maybe," chuckled the doctor; "maybe." Then he changed the subject +suddenly. "Mr. Dishart," he asked, "were you ever in love?" + +"Never!" answered Gavin violently. + +"Well, well," said the doctor, "don't terrify the horse. I have been +in love myself. It's bad, but it's nothing to curling." + + + + +Chapter Twelve. + +TRAGEDY OF A MUD HOUSE. + + +The dogcart bumped between the trees of Caddam, flinging Gavin and the +doctor at each other as a wheel rose on some beech-root or sank for a +moment in a pool. I suppose the wood was a pretty sight that day, the +pines only white where they had met the snow, as if the numbed painter +had left his work unfinished, the brittle twigs snapping overhead, the +water as black as tar. But it matters little what the wood was like. +Within a squirrel's leap of it an old woman was standing at the door +of a mud house listening for the approach of the trap that was to take +her to the poorhouse. Can you think of the beauty of the day now? + +Nanny was not crying. She had redd up her house for the last time and +put on her black merino. Her mouth was wide open while she listened. +If you had addressed her you would have thought her polite and stupid. +Look at her. A flabby-faced woman she is now, with a swollen body, and +no one has heeded her much these thirty years. I can tell you +something; it is almost droll. Nanny Webster was once a gay flirt, and +in Airlie Square there is a weaver with an unsteady head who thought +all the earth of her. His loom has taken a foot from his stature, and +gone are Nanny's raven locks on which he used to place his adoring +hand. Down in Airlie Square he is weaving for his life, and here is +Nanny, ripe for the poorhouse, and between them is the hill where they +were lovers. That is all the story save that when Nanny heard the +dogcart she screamed. + +No neighbour was with her. If you think this hard, it is because you +do not understand. Perhaps Nanny had never been very lovable except to +one man, and him, it is said, she lost through her own vanity; but +there was much in her to like. The neighbours, of whom there were two +not a hundred yards away, would have been with her now but they feared +to hurt her feelings. No heart opens to sympathy without letting in +delicacy, and these poor people knew that Nanny would not like them to +see her being taken away. For a week they had been aware of what was +coming, and they had been most kind to her, but that hideous word, the +poorhouse, they had not uttered. Poorhouse is not to be spoken in +Thrums, though it is nothing to tell a man that you see death in his +face. Did Nanny think they knew where she was going? was a question +they whispered to each other, and her suffering eyes cut scars on +their hearts. So now that the hour had come they called their children +into their houses and pulled down their blinds. + +"If you would like to see her by yourself," the doctor said eagerly to +Gavin, as the horse drew up at Nanny's gate, "I'll wait with the +horse. Not," he added, hastily, "that I feel sorry for her. We are +doing her a kindness." + +They dismounted together, however, and Nanny, who had run from the +trap into the house, watched them from her window. + +McQueen saw her and said glumly, "I should have come alone, for if you +pray she is sure to break down. Mr. Dishart, could you not pray +cheerfully?" + +"You don't look very cheerful yourself," Gavin said sadly. + +"Nonsense," answered the doctor. "I have no patience with this false +sentiment. Stand still, Lightning, and be thankful you are not your +master to-day." + +The door stood open, and Nanny was crouching against the opposite wall +of the room, such a poor, dull kitchen, that you would have thought +the furniture had still to be brought into it. The blanket and the +piece of old carpet that was Nanny's coverlet were already packed in +her box. The plate rack was empty. Only the round table and the two +chairs, and the stools and some pans were being left behind. + +"Well, Nanny," the doctor said, trying to bluster, "I have come, and +you see Mr. Dishart is with me." + +Nanny rose bravely. She knew the doctor was good to her, and she +wanted to thank him. I have not seen a great deal of the world myself, +but often the sweet politeness of the aged poor has struck me as +beautiful. Nanny dropped a curtesy, an ungainly one maybe, but it was +an old woman giving the best she had. + +"Thank you kindly, sirs," she said; and then two pairs of eyes dropped +before hers. + +"Please to take a chair," she added timidly. It is strange to know +that at that awful moment, for let none tell me it was less than +awful, the old woman was the one who could speak. + +Both men sat down, for they would have hurt Nanny by remaining +standing. Some ministers would have known the right thing to say to +her, but Gavin dared not let himself speak. I have again to remind you +that he was only one-and-twenty. + +"I'm drouthy, Nanny," the doctor said, to give her something to do, +"and I would be obliged for a drink of water." + +Nanny hastened to the pan that stood behind her door, but stopped +before she reached it. + +"It's toom," she said. "I--I didna think I needed to fill it this +morning." She caught the doctor's eye, and could only half restrain a +sob. "I couldna help that," she said, apologetically. "I'm richt angry +at myself for being so ungrateful like." + +The doctor thought it best that they should depart at once. He rose. + +"Oh, no, doctor," cried Nanny in alarm. + +"But you are ready?" + +"Ay," she said, "I have been ready this twa hours, but you micht wait +a minute. Hendry Munn and Andrew Allardyce is coming yont the road, +and they would see me." + +"Wait, doctor," Gavin said. + +"Thank you kindly, sir," answered Nanny. + +"But Nanny," the doctor said, "you must remember what I told you about +the poo--, about the place you are going to. It is a fine house, and +you will be very happy in it." + +"Ay, I'll be happy in't," Nanny faltered, "but, doctor, if I could +just hae bidden on here though I wasna happy!" + +"Think of the food you will get; broth nearly every day." + +"It--it'll be terrible enjoyable," Nanny said. + +"And there will be pleasant company for you always," continued the +doctor, "and a nice room to sit in. Why, after you have been there a +week, you won't be the same woman." + +"That's it!" cried Nanny with sudden passion. "Na, na; I'll be a woman +on the poor's rates. Oh, mither, mither, you little thocht when you +bore me that I would come to this!" + +"Nanny," the doctor said, rising again, "I am ashamed of you." + +"I humbly speir your forgiveness, sir," she said, "and you micht bide +just a wee yet. I've been ready to gang these twa hours, but now that +the machine is at the gate, I dinna ken how it is, but I'm terrible +sweer to come awa'. Oh, Mr. Dishart, it's richt true what the doctor +says about the--the place, but I canna just take it in. I'm--I'm gey +auld." + +"You will often get out to see your friends," was all Gavin could +say. + +"Na, na, na," she cried, "dinna say that; I'll gang, but you mauna bid +me ever come out, except in a hearse. Dinna let onybody in Thrums look +on my face again." + +"We must go," said the doctor firmly. "Put on your mutch, Nanny." + +"I dinna need to put on a mutch," she answered, with a faint flush of +pride. "I have a bonnet." + +She took the bonnet from her bed, and put it on slowly. + +"Are you sure there's naebody looking?" she asked. + +The doctor glanced at the minister, and Gavin rose. + +"Let us pray," he said, and the three went down on their knees. + +It was not the custom of Auld Licht ministers to leave any house +without offering up a prayer in it, and to us it always seemed that +when Gavin prayed, he was at the knees of God. The little minister +pouring himself out in prayer in a humble room, with awed people +around him who knew much more of the world than he, his voice at times +thick and again a squeal, and his hands clasped not gracefully, may +have been only a comic figure, but we were old-fashioned, and he +seemed to make us better men. If I only knew the way, I would draw him +as he was, and not fear to make him too mean a man for you to read +about. He had not been long in Thrums before he knew that we talked +much of his prayers, and that doubtless puffed him up a little. +Sometimes, I daresay, he rose from his knees feeling that he had +prayed well to-day, which is a dreadful charge to bring against any +one. But it was not always so, nor was it so now. + +I am not speaking harshly of this man, whom I have loved beyond all +others, when I say that Nanny came between him and his prayer. Had he +been of God's own image, unstained, he would have forgotten all else +in his Maker's presence, but Nanny was speaking too, and her words +choked his. At first she only whispered, but soon what was eating her +heart burst out painfully, and she did not know that the minister had +stopped. + +They were such moans as these that brought him back to earth:-- + +"I'll hae to gang.... I'm a base woman no' to be mair thankfu' to them +that is so good to me.... I dinna like to prig wi' them to take a +roundabout road, and I'm sair fleid a' the Roods will see me.... If it +could just be said to poor Sanders when he comes back that I died +hurriedly, syne he would be able to haud up his head.... Oh, +mither!... I wish terrible they had come and ta'en me at nicht.... +It's a dogcart, and I was praying it micht be a cart, so that they +could cover me wi' straw." + +"This is more than I can stand," the doctor cried. + +Nanny rose frightened. + +"I've tried you, sair," she said, "but, oh, I'm grateful, and I'm +ready now." + +They all advanced toward the door without another word, and Nanny even +tried to smile. But in the middle of the floor something came over +her, and she stood there. Gavin took her hand, and it was cold. She +looked from one to the other, her mouth opening and shutting. + +"I canna help it," she said. + +"It's cruel hard," muttered the doctor. "I knew this woman when she +was a lassie." + +The little minister stretched out his hands. + +"Have pity on her, O God!" he prayed, with the presumptuousness of +youth. + +Nanny heard the words. + +"Oh, God," she cried, "you micht!" + +God needs no minister to tell Him what to do, but it was His will that +the poorhouse should not have this woman. He made use of a strange +instrument, no other than the Egyptian, who now opened the mudhouse +door. + + + + +Chapter Thirteen. + +SECOND COMING OF THE EGYPTIAN WOMAN. + + +The gypsy had been passing the house, perhaps on her way to Thrums for +gossip, and it was only curiosity, born suddenly of Gavin's cry, that +made her enter. On finding herself in unexpected company she retained +hold of the door, and to the amazed minister she seemed for a moment +to have stepped into the mud house from his garden. Her eyes danced, +however, as they recognised him, and then he hardened. "This is no +place for you," he was saying fiercely, when Nanny, too distraught to +think, fell crying at the Egyptian's feet. + +"They are taking me to the poorhouse," she sobbed; "dinna let them, +dinna let them." + +The Egyptian's arms clasped her, and the Egyptian kissed a sallow +cheek that had once been as fair as yours, madam, who may read this +story. No one had caressed Nanny for many years, but do you think she +was too poor and old to care for these young arms around her neck? +There are those who say that women cannot love each other, but it is +not true. Woman is not undeveloped man, but something better, and +Gavin and the doctor knew it as they saw Nanny clinging to her +protector. When the gypsy turned with flashing eyes to the two men she +might have been a mother guarding her child. + +"How dare you!" she cried, stamping her foot; and they quaked like +malefactors. + +"You don't see----" Gavin began, but her indignation stopped him. + +"You coward!" she said. + +Even the doctor had been impressed, so that he now addressed the gypsy +respectfully. + +"This is all very well," he said, "but a woman's sympathy----" + +"A woman!--ah, if I could be a man for only five minutes!" + +She clenched her little fists, and again turned to Nanny. + +"You poor dear," she said tenderly, "I won't let them take you away." + +She looked triumphantly at both minister and doctor, as one who had +foiled them in their cruel designs. + +"Go!" she said, pointing grandly to the door. + +"Is this the Egyptian of the riots," the doctor said in a low voice to +Gavin, "or is she a queen? Hoots, man, don't look so shamefaced. We +are not criminals. Say something." + +Then to the Egyptian Gavin said firmly-- + +"You mean well, but you are doing this poor woman a cruelty in holding +out hopes to her that cannot be realised. Sympathy is not meal and +bedclothes, and these are what she needs." + +"And you who live in luxury," retorted the girl, "would send her to +the poorhouse for them. I thought better of you!" + +"Tuts!" said the doctor, losing patience, "Mr. Dishart gives more than +any other man in Thrums to the poor, and he is not to be preached to +by a gypsy. We are waiting for you, Nanny." + +"Ay, I'm coming," said Nanny, leaving the Egyptian. "I'll hae to gang, +lassie. Dinna greet for me." + +But the Egyptian said, "No, you are not going. It is these men who are +going. Go, sirs, and leave us." + +"And you will provide for Nanny?" asked the doctor contemptuously. + +"Yes." + +"And where is the siller to come from?" + +"That is my affair, and Nanny's. Begone, both of you. She shall never +want again. See how the very mention of your going brings back life to +her face." + +"I won't begone," the doctor said roughly, "till I see the colour of +your siller." + +"Oh, the money," said the Egyptian scornfully. She put her hand into +her pocket confidently, as if used to well-filled purses, but could +only draw out two silver pieces. + +"I had forgotten," she said aloud, though speaking to herself. + +"I thought so," said the cynical doctor. "Come, Nanny." + +"You presume to doubt me!" the Egyptian said, blocking his way to the +door. + +"How could I presume to believe you?" he answered. "You are a beggar +by profession, and yet talk as if----pooh, nonsense." + +"I would live on terrible little," Nanny whispered, "and Sanders will +be out again in August month." + +"Seven shillings a week," rapped out the doctor. + +"Is that all?" the Egyptian asked. "She shall have it." + +"When?" + +"At once. No, it is not possible to-night, but to-morrow I will bring +five pounds; no, I will send it; no, you must come for it." + +"And where, O daughter of Dives, do you reside?" the doctor asked. + +No doubt the Egyptian could have found a ready answer had her pity for +Nanny been less sincere; as it was, she hesitated, wanting to +propitiate the doctor, while holding her secret fast. + +"I only asked," McQueen said, eyeing her curiously, "because when I +make an appointment I like to know where it is to be held. But I +suppose you are suddenly to rise out of the ground as you have done +to-day, and did six weeks ago." + +"Whether I rise out of the ground or not," the gypsy said, keeping her +temper with an effort, "there will be a five-pound note in my hand. +You will meet me to-morrow about this hour at--say the Kaims of +Cushie?" + +"No," said the doctor after a moment's pause; "I won't. Even if I went +to the Kaims I should not find you there. Why can you not come to +me?" + +"Why do you carry a woman's hair," replied the Egyptian, "in that +locket on your chain?" + +Whether she was speaking of what she knew, or this was only a chance +shot, I cannot tell, but the doctor stepped back from her hastily, and +could not help looking down at the locket. + +"Yes," said the Egyptian calmly, "it is still shut; but why do you +sometimes open it at nights?" + +"Lassie," the old doctor cried, "are you a witch?" + +"Perhaps," she said; "but I ask for no answer to my questions. If you +have your secrets, why may I not have mine? Now will you meet me at +the Kaims?" + +"No; I distrust you more than ever. Even if you came, it would be to +play with me as you have done already. How can a vagrant have five +pounds in her pocket when she does not have five shillings on her +back?" + +"You are a cruel, hard man," the Egyptian said, beginning to lose +hope. "But, see," she cried, brightening, "look at this ring. Do you +know its value?" + +She held up her finger, but the stone would not live in the dull +light. + +"I see it is gold," the doctor said cautiously, and she smiled at the +ignorance that made him look only at the frame. + +"Certainly, it is gold," said Gavin, equally stupid. + +"Mercy on us!" Nanny cried; "I believe it's what they call a +diamond." + +"How did you come by it?" the doctor asked suspiciously. + +"I thought we had agreed not to ask each other questions," the +Egyptian answered drily. "But, see, I will give it to you to hold in +hostage. If I am not at the Kaims to get it back you can keep it." + +The doctor took the ring in his hand and examined it curiously. + +"There is a quirk in this," he said at last, "that I don't like. Take +back your ring, lassie. Mr. Dishart, give Nanny your arm, and I'll +carry her box to the machine." + +Now all this time Gavin had been in the dire distress of a man +possessed of two minds, of which one said, "This is a true woman," and +the other, "Remember the seventeenth of October." They were at war +within him, and he knew that he must take a side, yet no sooner had he +cast one out than he invited it back. He did not answer the doctor. + +"Unless," McQueen said, nettled by his hesitation, "you trust this +woman's word." + +Gavin tried honestly to weigh those two minds against each other, but +could not prevent impulse jumping into one of the scales. + +"You do trust me," the Egyptian said, with wet eyes; and now that he +looked on her again-- + +"Yes," he said firmly, "I trust you," and the words that had been so +difficult to say were the right words. He had no more doubt of it. + +"Just think a moment first," the doctor warned him. "I decline to have +anything to do with this matter. You will go to the Kaims for the +siller?" + +"If it is necessary," said Gavin. + +"It is necessary," the Egyptian said. + +"Then I will go." + +Nanny took his hand timidly, and would have kissed it had he been less +than a minister. + +"You dare not, man," the doctor said gruffly, "make an appointment +with this gypsy. Think of what will be said in Thrums." + +I honour Gavin for the way in which he took this warning. For him, who +was watched from the rising of his congregation to their lying down, +whose every movement was expected to be a text to Thrums, it was no +small thing that he had promised. This he knew, but he only reddened +because the doctor had implied an offensive thing in a woman's +presence. + +"You forget yourself, doctor," he said sharply. + +"Send some one in your place," advised the doctor, who liked the +little minister. + +"He must come himself and alone," said the Egyptian. "You must both +give me your promise not to mention who is Nanny's friend, and she +must promise too." + +"Well," said the doctor, buttoning up his coat, "I cannot keep my +horse freezing any longer. Remember, Mr. Dishart, you take the sole +responsibility of this." + +"I do," said Gavin, "and with the utmost confidence." + +"Give him the ring then, lassie," said McQueen. + +She handed the minister the ring, but he would not take it. + +"I have your word," he said; "that is sufficient." + +Then the Egyptian gave him the first look that he could think of +afterwards without misgivings. + +"So be it," said the doctor. "Get the money, and I will say nothing +about it, unless I have reason to think that it has been dishonestly +come by. Don't look so frightened at me, Nanny. I hope for your sake +that her stocking-foot is full of gold." + +"Surely it's worth risking," Nanny said, not very brightly, "when the +minister's on her side." + +"Ay, but on whose side, Nanny?" asked the doctor. "Lassie, I bear you +no grudge; will you not tell me who you are?" + +"Only a puir gypsy, your honour," said the girl, becoming mischievous +now that she had gained her point; "only a wandering hallen-shaker, +and will I tell you your fortune, my pretty gentleman?" + +"No, you shan't," replied the doctor, plunging his hands so hastily +into his pockets that Gavin laughed. + +"I don't need to look at your hand," said the gypsy, "I can read your +fortune in your face." + +She looked at him fixedly, so that he fidgeted. + +"I see you," said the Egyptian in a sepulchral voice, and speaking +slowly, "become very frail. Your eyesight has almost gone. You are +sitting alone in a cauld room, cooking your ain dinner ower a feeble +fire. The soot is falling down the lum. Your bearish manners towards +women have driven the servant lassie frae your house, and your wife +beats you." + +"Ay, you spoil your prophecy there," the doctor said, considerably +relieved, "for I'm not married; my pipe's the only wife I ever had." + +"You will be married by that time," continued the Egyptian, frowning +at this interruption, "for I see your wife. She is a shrew. She +marries you in your dotage. She lauchs at you in company. She doesna +allow you to smoke." + +"Away with you, you jade," cried the doctor in a fury, and feeling +nervously for his pipe. "Mr. Dishart, you had better stay and arrange +this matter as you choose, but I want a word with you outside." + +"And you're no angry wi' me, doctor, are you?" asked Nanny wistfully. +"You've been richt good to me, but I canna thole the thocht o' that +place. And, oh, doctor, you winna tell naebody that I was so near taen +to it?" + +In the garden McQueen said to Gavin:-- + +"You may be right, Mr. Dishart, in this matter, for there is this in +our favour, that the woman can gain nothing by tricking us. She did +seem to feel for Nanny. But who can she be? You saw she could put on +and off the Scotch tongue as easily as if it were a cap." + +"She is as much a mystery to me as to you," Gavin answered, "but she +will give me the money, and that is all I ask of her." + +"Ay, that remains to be seen. But take care of yourself; a man's +second childhood begins when a woman gets hold of him." + +"Don't alarm yourself about me, doctor. I daresay she is only one of +those gypsies from the South. They are said to be wealthy, many of +them, and even, when they like, to have a grand manner. The Thrums +people had no doubt but that she was what she seemed to be." + +"Ay, but what does she seem to be? Even that puzzles me. And then +there is this mystery about her which she admits herself, though +perhaps only to play with us." + +"Perhaps," said Gavin, "she is only taking precautions against her +discovery by the police. You must remember her part in the riots." + +"Yes, but we never learned how she was able to play that part. +Besides, there is no fear in her, or she would not have ventured back +to Thrums. However, good luck attend you. But be wary. You saw how she +kept her feet among her shalls and wills? Never trust a Scotch man or +woman who does not come to grief among them." + +The doctor took his seat in the dogcart. + +"And, Mr. Dishart," he called out, "that was all nonsense about the +locket." + + + + +Chapter Fourteen. + +THE MINISTER DANCES TO THE WOMAN'S PIPING. + + +Gavin let the doctor's warnings fall in the grass. In his joy over +Nanny's deliverance he jumped the garden gate, whose hinges were of +yarn, and cleverly caught his hat as it was leaving his head in +protest. He then re-entered the mud house staidly. Pleasant was the +change. Nanny's home was as a clock that had been run out, and is set +going again. Already the old woman was unpacking her box, to increase +the distance between herself and the poorhouse. But Gavin only saw her +in the background, for the Egyptian, singing at her work, had become +the heart of the house. She had flung her shawl over Nanny's +shoulders, and was at the fireplace breaking peats with the leg of a +stool. She turned merrily to the minister to ask him to chop up his +staff for firewood, and he would have answered wittily but could not. +Then, as often, the beauty of the Egyptian surprised him into silence. +I could never get used to her face myself in the after-days. It has +always held me wondering, like my own Glen Quharity on a summer day, +when the sun is lingering and the clouds are on the march, and the +glen is never the same for two minutes, but always so beautiful as to +make me sad. Never will I attempt to picture the Egyptian as she +seemed to Gavin while she bent over Nanny's fire, never will I +describe my glen. Yet a hundred times have I hankered after trying to +picture both. + +An older minister, believing that Nanny's anguish was ended, might +have gone on his knees and finished the interrupted prayer, but now +Gavin was only doing this girl's bidding. + +"Nanny and I are to have a dish of tea, as soon as we have set things +to rights," she told him. "Do you think we should invite the minister, +Nanny?" + +"We couldna dare," Nanny answered quickly. "You'll excuse her, Mr. +Dishart, for the presumption?" + +"Presumption!" said the Egyptian, making a face. + +"Lassie," Nanny said, fearful to offend her new friend, yet horrified +at this affront to the minister, "I ken you mean weel, but Mr. +Dishart'll think you're putting yoursel' on an equality wi' him." She +added in a whisper, "Dinna be so free; he's the Auld Licht minister." + +The gypsy bowed with mock awe, but Gavin let it pass. He had, indeed, +forgotten that he was anybody in particular, and was anxious to stay +to tea. + +"But there is no water," he remembered, "and is there any tea?" + +"I am going out for them and for some other things," the Egyptian +explained. "But no," she continued, reflectively, "if I go for the +tea, you must go for the water." + +"Lassie," cried Nanny, "mind wha you're speaking to. To send a +minister to the well!" + +"I will go," said Gavin, recklessly lifting the pitcher. "The well is +in the wood, I think?" + +"Gie me the pitcher, Mr. Dishart," said Nanny, in distress. "What a +town there would be if you was seen wi't!" + +"Then he must remain here and keep the house till we come back," said +the Egyptian, and thereupon departed, with a friendly wave of her hand +to the minister. + +"She's an awfu' lassie," Nanny said, apologetically, "but it'll just +be the way she has been brought up." + +[Illustration: "DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD INVITE THE MINISTER, NANNY?"] + +"She has been very good to you, Nanny." + +"She has; leastwise, she promises to be. Mr. Dishart, she's awa'; what +if she doesna come back?" + +Nanny spoke nervously, and Gavin drew a long face. + +"I think she will," he said faintly. "I am confident of it," he added +in the same voice. + +"And has she the siller?" + +"I believe in her," said Gavin, so doggedly that his own words +reassured him. "She has an excellent heart." + +"Ay," said Nanny, to whom the minister's faith was more than the +Egyptian's promise, "and that's hardly natural in a gaen-aboot body. +Yet a gypsy she maun be, for naebody would pretend to be ane that +wasna. Tod, she proved she was an Egyptian by dauring to send you to +the well." + +This conclusive argument brought her prospective dower so close to +Nanny's eyes that it hid the poorhouse. + +"I suppose she'll gie you the money," she said, "and syne you'll gie +me the seven shillings a week?" + +"That seems the best plan," Gavin answered. + +"And what will you gie it me in?" Nanny asked, with something on her +mind. "I would be terrible obliged if you gae it to me in saxpences." + +"Do the smaller coins go farther?" Gavin asked, curiously. + +"Na, it's no that. But I've heard tell o' folk giving away half-crowns +by mistake for twa-shilling bits; ay, and there's something dizzying +in ha'en fower-and-twenty pennies in one piece; it has sic terrible +little bulk. Sanders had aince a gold sovereign, and he looked at it +so often that it seemed to grow smaller and smaller in his hand till +he was feared it micht just be a half after all." + +Her mind relieved on this matter, the old woman set off for the well. +A minute afterwards Gavin went to the door to look for the gypsy, and, +behold, Nanny was no further than the gate. Have you who read ever +been sick near to death, and then so far recovered that you could once +again stand at your window? If so, you have not forgotten how the +beauty of the world struck you afresh, so that you looked long and +said many times, "How fair a world it is!" like one who had made a +discovery. It was such a look that Nanny gave to the hill and Caddam +while she stood at her garden gate. + +Gavin returned to the fire and watched a girl in it in an officer's +cloak playing at hide and seek with soldiers. After a time he +sighed, then looked round sharply to see who had sighed, then, +absent-mindedly, lifted the empty kettle and placed it on the +glowing peats. He was standing glaring at the kettle, his arms folded, +when Nanny returned from the well. + +"I've been thinking," she said, "o' something that proves the lassie +to be just an Egyptian. Ay, I noticed she wasna nane awed when I said +you was the Auld Licht minister. Weel, I'se uphaud that came frae her +living ower muckle in the open air. Is there no' a smell o' burning in +the house?" + +"I have noticed it," Gavin answered, sniffing, "since you came in. I +was busy until then, putting on the kettle. The smell is becoming +worse." + +Nanny had seen the empty kettle on the fire as he began to speak, and +so solved the mystery. Her first thought was to snatch the kettle out +of the blaze, but remembering who had put it there, she dared not. She +sidled toward the hearth instead, and saying craftily, "Ay, here it +is; it's a clout among the peats," softly laid the kettle on the +earthen floor. It was still red with sparks, however, when the gypsy +reappeared. + +"Who burned the kettle?" she asked, ignoring Nanny's signs. + +"Lassie," Nanny said, "it was me;" but Gavin, flushing, confessed his +guilt. + +"Oh, you stupid!" exclaimed the Egyptian, shaking her two ounces of +tea (which then cost six shillings the pound) in his face. + +At this Nanny wrung her hands, crying, "That's waur than swearing." + +"If men," said the gypsy, severely, "would keep their hands in their +pockets all day, the world's affairs would be more easily managed." + +"Wheesht!" cried Nanny, "if Mr. Dishart cared to set his mind to it, +he could make the kettle boil quicker than you or me. But his thochts +is on higher things." + +"No higher than this," retorted the gypsy, holding her hand level with +her brow. "Confess, Mr. Dishart, that this is the exact height of what +you were thinking about. See, Nanny, he is blushing as if I meant that +he had been thinking about me. He cannot answer, Nanny: we have found +him out." + +"And kindly of him it is no to answer," said Nanny, who had been +examining the gypsy's various purchases; "for what could he answer, +except that he would need to be sure o' living a thousand years afore +he could spare five minutes on you or me? Of course it would be +different if we sat under him." + +"And yet," said the Egyptian, with great solemnity, "he is to drink +tea at that very table. I hope you are sensible of the honour, +Nanny." + +"Am I no?" said Nanny, whose education had not included sarcasm. "I'm +trying to keep frae thinking o't till he's gone, in case I should let +the teapot fall." + +"You have nothing to thank me for, Nanny," said Gavin, "but much for +which to thank this--this----" + +"This haggarty-taggarty Egyptian," suggested the girl. Then, looking +at Gavin curiously, she said, "But my name is Babbie." + +"That's short for Barbara," said Nanny; "but Babbie what?" + +"Yes, Babbie Watt," replied the gypsy, as if one name were as good as +another. + +"Weel, then, lift the lid off the kettle, Babbie," said Nanny, "for +it's boiling ower." + +Gavin looked at Nanny with admiration and envy, for she had said +Babbie as coolly as if it was the name of a pepper-box. + +Babbie tucked up her sleeves to wash Nanny's cups and saucers, which +even in the most prosperous days of the mud house had only been in use +once a week, and Gavin was so eager to help that he bumped his head on +the plate-rack. + +"Sit there," said Babbie, authoritatively, pointing, with a cup in her +hand, to a stool, "and don't rise till I give you permission." + +To Nanny's amazement, he did as he was bid. + +"I got the things in the little shop you told me of," the Egyptian +continued, addressing the mistress of the house, "but the horrid man +would not give them to me until he had seen my money." + +"Enoch would be suspicious o' you," Nanny explained, "you being an +Egyptian." + +"Ah," said Babbie, with a side-glance at the minister, "I am only an +Egyptian. Is that why you dislike me, Mr. Dishart?" + +Gavin hesitated foolishly over his answer, and the Egyptian, with a +towel round her waist, made a pretty gesture of despair. + +"He neither likes you nor dislikes you," Nanny explained; "you forget +he's a minister." + +"That is what I cannot endure," said Babbie, putting the towel to her +eyes, "to be neither liked nor disliked. Please hate me, Mr. Dishart, +if you cannot lo--ove me." + +Her face was behind the towel, and Gavin could not decide whether it +was the face or the towel that shook with agitation. He gave Nanny a +look that asked, "Is she really crying?" and Nanny telegraphed back, +"I question it." + +"Come, come," said the minister, gallantly, "I did not say that I +disliked you." + +Even this desperate compliment had not the desired effect, for the +gypsy continued to sob behind her screen. + +"I can honestly say," went on Gavin, as solemnly as if he were making +a statement in a court of justice, "that I like you." + +Then the Egyptian let drop her towel, and replied with equal +solemnity: + +"Oh, tank oo! Nanny, the minister says me is a dood 'ittle dirl." + +"He didna gang that length," said Nanny, sharply, to cover Gavin's +confusion. "Set the things, Babbie, and I'll make the tea." + +The Egyptian obeyed demurely, pretending to wipe her eyes every time +Gavin looked at her. He frowned at this, and then she affected to be +too overcome to go on with her work. + +"Tell me, Nanny," she asked presently, "what sort of man this Enoch +is, from whom I bought the things?" + +"He is not very regular, I fear," answered Gavin, who felt that he had +sat silent and self-conscious on his stool too long. + +"Do you mean that he drinks?" asked Babbie. + +"No, I mean regular in his attendance." + +The Egyptian's face showed no enlightenment. + +"His attendance at church," Gavin explained. + +"He's far frae it," said Nanny, "and as a body kens, Joe Cruickshanks, +the atheist, has the wite o' that. The scoundrel telled Enoch that the +great ministers in Edinbury and London believed in no hell except sic +as your ain conscience made for you, and ever since syne Enoch has +been careless about the future state." + +"Ah," said Babbie, waving the Church aside, "what I want to know is +whether he is a single man." + +"He is not," Gavin replied; "but why do you want to know that?" + +"Because single men are such gossips. I am sorry he is not single, as +I want him to repeat to everybody what I told him." + +"Trust him to tell Susy," said Nanny, "and Susy to tell the town." + +"His wife is a gossip?" + +"Ay, she's aye tonguing, especially about her teeth. They're folk wi' +siller, and she has a set o' false teeth. It's fair scumfishing to +hear her blawing about thae teeth, she's so fleid we dinna ken that +they're false." + +Nanny had spoken jealously, but suddenly she trembled with apprehension. + +"Babbie," she cried, "you didna speak about the poorhouse to Enoch?" + +The Egyptian shook her head, though of the poorhouse she had been +forced to speak, for Enoch, having seen the doctor going home alone, +insisted on knowing why. + +"But I knew," the gypsy said, "that the Thrums people would be very +unhappy until they discovered where you get the money I am to give +you, and as that is a secret, I hinted to Enoch that your benefactor +is Mr. Dishart." + +"You should not have said that," interposed Gavin. "I cannot foster +such a deception." + +"They will foster it without your help," the Egyptian said. "Besides, +if you choose, you can say you get the money from a friend." + +"Ay, you can say that," Nanny entreated with such eagerness that +Babbie remarked a little bitterly: + +"There is no fear of Nanny's telling any one that the friend is a +gypsy girl." + +"Na, na," agreed Nanny, again losing Babbie's sarcasm. "I winna let +on. It's so queer to be befriended by an Egyptian." + +"It is scarcely respectable," Babbie said. + +"It's no," answered simple Nanny. + +I suppose Nanny's unintentional cruelty did hurt Babbie as much as +Gavin thought. She winced, and her face had two expressions, the one +cynical, the other pained. Her mouth curled as if to tell the minister +that gratitude was nothing to her, but her eyes had to struggle to +keep back a tear. Gavin was touched, and she saw it, and for a moment +they were two people who understood each other. + +"I, at least," Gavin said in a low voice, "will know who is the +benefactress, and think none the worse of her because she is a +gypsy." + +At this Babbie smiled gratefully to him, and then both laughed, for +they had heard Nanny remarking to the kettle, "But I wouldna hae been +nane angry if she had telled Enoch that the minister was to take his +tea here. Susy'll no believe't though I tell her, as tell her I +will." + +To Nanny the table now presented a rich appearance, for besides the +teapot there were butter and loaf-bread and cheesies: a biscuit of +which only Thrums knows the secret. + +"Draw in your chair, Mr. Dishart," she said, in suppressed excitement. + +"Yes," said Babbie, "you take this chair, Mr. Dishart, and Nanny will +have that one, and I can sit humbly on the stool." + +But Nanny held up her hands in horror. + +"Keep us a'!" she exclaimed; "the lassie thinks her and me is to sit +down wi' the minister! We're no to gang that length, Babbie; we're +just to stand and serve him, and syne we'll sit down when he has +risen." + +"Delightful!" said Babbie, clapping her hands. "Nanny, you kneel on +that side of him, and I will kneel on this. You will hold the butter +and I the biscuits." + +But Gavin, as this girl was always forgetting, was a lord of +creation. + +"Sit down both of you at once!" he thundered, "I command you." + +[Illustration: "SIT DOWN, BOTH OF YOU, AT ONCE!"] + +Then the two women fell into their seats; Nanny in terror, Babbie +affecting it. + + + + +Chapter Fifteen. + +THE MINISTER BEWITCHED--SECOND SERMON AGAINST WOMEN. + + +To Nanny it was a dizzying experience to sit at the head of her own +table, and, with assumed calmness, invite the minister not to spare +the loaf-bread. Babbie's prattle, and even Gavin's answers, were but +an indistinct noise to her, to be as little regarded, in the +excitement of watching whether Mr. Dishart noticed that there was a +knife for the butter, as the music of the river by a man who is +catching trout. Every time Gavin's cup went to his lips Nanny +calculated (correctly) how much he had drunk, and yet, when the right +moment arrived, she asked in the English voice that is fashionable at +ceremonies, "if his cup was toom." + +Perhaps it was well that Nanny had these matters to engross her, for +though Gavin spoke freely, he was saying nothing of lasting value, and +some of his remarks to the Egyptian, if preserved for the calmer +contemplation of the morrow, might have seemed frivolous to himself. +Usually his observations were scrambled for, like ha'pence at a +wedding, but to-day they were only for one person. Infected by the +Egyptian's high spirits, Gavin had laid aside the minister with his +hat, and what was left was only a young man. He who had stamped his +feet at thought of a soldier's cloak now wanted to be reminded of it. +The little minister, who used to address himself in terms of scorn +every time he wasted an hour, was at present dallying with a teaspoon. +He even laughed boisterously, flinging back his head, and little knew +that behind Nanny's smiling face was a terrible dread, because his +chair had once given way before. + +Even though our thoughts are not with our company, the mention of our +name is a bell to which we usually answer. Hearing hers Nanny +started. + +"You can tell me, Nanny," the Egyptian had said, with an arch look at +the minister. "Oh, Nanny, for shame! How can you expect to follow our +conversation when you only listen to Mr. Dishart?" + +"She is saying, Nanny," Gavin broke in, almost gaily for a minister, +"that she saw me recently wearing a cloak. You know I have no such +thing." + +"Na," Nanny answered artlessly, "you have just the thin brown coat wi' +the braid round it, forby the ane you have on the now." + +"You see," Gavin said to Babbie, "I could not have a new neckcloth, +not to speak of a cloak, without everybody in Thrums knowing about it. +I dare say Nanny knows all about the braid, and even what it cost." + +"Three bawbees the yard at Kyowowy's shop," replied Nanny, promptly, +"and your mother sewed it on. Sam'l Fairweather has the marrows o't on +his top coat. No that it has the same look on him." + +"Nevertheless," Babbie persisted, "I am sure the minister has a cloak; +but perhaps he is ashamed of it. No doubt it is hidden away in the +garret." + +"Na, we would hae kent o't if it was there," said Nanny. + +"But it may be in a chest, and the chest may be locked," the Egyptian +suggested. + +"Ay, but the kist in the garret isna locked," Nanny answered. + +"How do you get to know all these things, Nanny?" asked Gavin, +sighing. + +[Illustration: "'HE ISN'T MARRIED?' ASKED BABBIE."] + +"Your congregation tells me. Naebody would lay by news about a +minister." + +"But how do they know?" + +"I dinna ken. They just find out, because they're so fond o' you." + +"I hope they will never become so fond of me as that," said Babbie. +"Still, Nanny, the minister's cloak is hidden somewhere." + +"Losh, what would make him hod it?" demanded the old woman. "Folk that +has cloaks doesna bury them in boxes." + +At the word "bury" Gavin's hand fell on the table, and he returned to +Nanny apprehensively. + +"That would depend on how the cloak was got," said the cruel Egyptian. +"If it was not his own----" + +"Lassie," cried Nanny, "behave yoursel'." + +"Or if he found it in his possession against his will?" suggested +Gavin, slyly. "He might have got it from some one who picked it up +cheap." + +"From his wife, for instance," said Babbie, whereupon Gavin suddenly +became interested in the floor. + +"Ay, ay, the minister was hitting at you there, Babbie," Nanny +explained, "for the way you made off wi' the captain's cloak. The +Thrums folk wondered less at your taking it than at your no keeping +it. It's said to be michty grand." + +"It was rather like the one the minister's wife gave him," said +Babbie. + +"The minister has neither a wife nor a cloak," retorted Nanny. + +"He isn't married?" asked Babbie, the picture of incredulity. + +Nanny gathered from the minister's face that he deputed to her the +task of enlightening this ignorant girl, so she replied with emphasis, +"Na, they hinna got him yet, and I'm cheated if it doesna tak them all +their time." + +Thus do the best of women sell their sex for nothing. + +"I did wonder," said the Egyptian, gravely, "at any mere woman's +daring to marry such a minister." + +"Ay," replied Nanny, spiritedly, "but there's dauring limmers wherever +there's a single man." + +"So I have often suspected," said Babbie, duly shocked. "But, Nanny, I +was told the minister had a wife, by one who said he saw her." + +"He lied, then," answered Nanny turning to Gavin for further +instructions. + +"But, see, the minister does not deny the horrid charge himself." + +"No, and for the reason he didna deny the cloak: because it's no worth +his while. I'll tell you wha your friend had seen. It would be +somebody that would like to be Mrs. Dishart. There's a hantle o' that +kind. Ay, lassie, but wishing winna land a woman in a manse." + +"It was one of the soldiers," Babbie said, "who told me about her. He +said Mr. Dishart introduced her to him." + +"Sojers!" cried Nanny. "I could never thole the name o' them. Sanders +in his young days hankered after joining them, and so he would, if it +hadna been for the fechting. Ay, and now they've ta'en him awa to the +gaol, and sworn lies about him. Dinna put any faith in sojers, +lassie." + +"I was told," Babbie went on, "that the minister's wife was rather +like me." + +"Heaven forbid!" ejaculated Nanny, so fervently that all three +suddenly sat back from the table. + +"I'm no meaning," Nanny continued hurriedly, fearing to offend her +benefactress, "but what you're the bonniest tid I ever saw out o' an +almanack. But you would ken Mr. Dishart's contempt for bonny faces if +you had heard his sermon against them. I didna hear it mysel', for I'm +no Auld Licht, but it did the work o' the town for an aucht days." + +If Nanny had not taken her eyes off Gavin for the moment she would +have known that he was now anxious to change the topic. Babbie saw it, +and became suspicious. + +"When did he preach against the wiles of women, Nanny?" + +"It was long ago," said Gavin, hastily. + +"No so very lang syne," corrected Nanny. "It was the Sabbath after the +sojers was in Thrums; the day you changed your text so hurriedly. Some +thocht you wasna weel, but Lang Tammas----" + +"Thomas Whamond is too officious," Gavin said with dignity. "I forbid +you, Nanny, to repeat his story." + +"But what made you change your text?" asked Babbie. + +"You see he winna tell," Nanny said, wistfully. "Ay, I dinna deny but +what I would like richt to ken. But the session's as puzzled as +yoursel', Babbie." + +"Perhaps more puzzled," answered the Egyptian, with a smile that +challenged Gavin's frowns to combat and overthrow them. "What +surprises me, Mr. Dishart, is that such a great man can stoop to see +whether women are pretty or not. It was very good of you to remember +me to-day. I suppose you recognized me by my frock?" + +"By your face," he replied, boldly; "by your eyes." + +"Nanny," exclaimed the Egyptian, "did you hear what the minister +said?" + +"Woe is me," answered Nanny, "I missed it." + +"He says he would know me anywhere by my eyes." + +"So would I mysel'," said Nanny. + +"Then what colour are they, Mr. Dishart?" demanded Babbie. "Don't +speak, Nanny, for I want to expose him." + +She closed her eyes tightly. Gavin was in a quandary. I suppose he had +looked at her eyes too long to know much about them. + +"Blue," he guessed at last. + +"Na, they're black," said Nanny, who had doubtless known this for an +hour. I am always marvelling over the cleverness of women, as every +one must see who reads this story. + +"No but what they micht be blue in some lichts," Nanny added, out of +respect to the minister. + +"Oh, don't defend him, Nanny," said Babbie, looking reproachfully at +Gavin. "I don't see that any minister has a right to denounce women +when he is so ignorant of his subject. I will say it, Nanny, and you +need not kick me beneath the table." + +Was not all this intoxicating to the little minister, who had never +till now met a girl on equal terms? At twenty-one a man is a musical +instrument given to the other sex, but it is not as instruments +learned at school, for when She sits down to it she cannot tell what +tune she is about to play. That is because she has no notion of what +the instrument is capable. Babbie's kind-heartedness, her gaiety, her +coquetry, her moments of sadness, had been a witch's fingers, and +Gavin was still trembling under their touch. Even in being taken to +task by her there was a charm, for every pout of her mouth, every +shake of her head, said, "You like me, and therefore you have given me +the right to tease you." Men sign these agreements without reading +them. But, indeed, man is a stupid animal at the best, and thinks all +his life that he did not propose until he blurted out, "I love you." + +It was later than it should have been when the minister left the mud +house, and even then he only put on his hat because Babbie said that +she must go. + +"But not your way," she added. "I go into the wood and vanish. You +know, Nanny, I live up a tree." + +"Dinna say that," said Nanny, anxiously, "or I'll be fleid about the +siller." + +"Don't fear about it. Mr. Dishart will get some of it to-morrow at the +Kaims. I would bring it here, but I cannot come so far to-morrow." + +[Illustration: "I HAVE READ MY FORTUNE."] + +"Then I'll hae peace to the end o' my days," said the old woman, "and, +Babbie, I wish the same to you wi' all my heart." + +"Ah," Babbie replied, mournfully, "I have read my fortune, Nanny, and +there is not much happiness in it." + +"I hope that is not true," Gavin said, simply. + +They were standing at the door, and she was looking toward the hill, +perhaps without seeing it. All at once it came to Gavin that this +fragile girl might have a history far sadder and more turbulent than +his. + +"Do you really care?" she asked, without looking at him. + +"Yes," he said stoutly, "I care." + +"Because you do not know me," she said. + +"Because I do know you," he answered. + +Now she did look at him. + +"I believe," she said, making a discovery, "that you misunderstand me +less than those who have known me longer." + +This was a perilous confidence, for it at once made Gavin say +"Babbie." + +"Ah," she answered, frankly, "I am glad to hear that. I thought you +did not really like me, because you never called me by my name." + +Gavin drew a great breath. + +"That was not the reason," he said. + +The reason was now unmistakable. + +"I was wrong," said the Egyptian, a little alarmed; "you do not +understand me at all." + +She returned to Nanny, and Gavin set off, holding his head high, his +brain in a whirl. Five minutes afterwards, when Nanny was at the fire, +the diamond ring on her little finger, he came back, looking like one +who had just seen sudden death. + +"I had forgotten," he said, with a fierceness aimed at himself, "that +to-morrow is the Sabbath." + +"Need that make any difference?" asked the gypsy. + +"At this hour on Monday," said Gavin, hoarsely, "I will be at the +Kaims." + +He went away without another word, and Babbie watched him from the +window. Nanny had not looked up from the ring. + +"What a pity he is a minister!" the girl said, reflectively. "Nanny, +you are not listening." + +The old woman was making the ring flash by the light of the fire. + +"Nanny, do you hear me? Did you see Mr. Dishart come back?" + +"I heard the door open," Nanny answered, without taking her greedy +eyes off the ring. "Was it him? Whaur did you get this, lassie?" + +"Give it me back, Nanny, I am going now." + +But Nanny did not give it back; she put her other hand over it to +guard it, and there she crouched, warming herself not at the fire, but +at the ring. + +"Give it me, Nanny." + +"It winna come off my finger." She gloated over it, nursed it, kissed +it. + +"I must have it, Nanny." + +The Egyptian put her hand lightly on the old woman's shoulder, and +Nanny jumped up, pressing the ring to her bosom. Her face had become +cunning and ugly; she retreated into a corner. + +"Nanny, give me back my ring or I will take it from you." + +The cruel light of the diamond was in Nanny's eyes for a moment, and +then, shuddering, she said, "Tak your ring awa, tak it out o' my +sicht." + +In the meantime Gavin was trudging home gloomily composing his second +sermon against women. I have already given the entry in my own diary +for that day: this is his:--"Notes on Jonah. Exchanged vol. xliii., +'European Magazine,' for Owen's 'Justification' (_per_ flying +stationer). Began Second Samuel. Visited Nanny Webster." There is no +mention of the Egyptian. + + + + +Chapter Sixteen. + +CONTINUED MISBEHAVIOUR OF THE EGYPTIAN WOMAN. + + +By the following Monday it was known at many looms that something sat +heavily on the Auld Licht minister's mind. On the previous day he had +preached his second sermon of warning to susceptible young men, and +his first mention of the word "woman" had blown even the sleepy heads +upright. Now he had salt fish for breakfast, and on clearing the table +Jean noticed that his knife and fork were uncrossed. He was observed +walking into a gooseberry bush by Susy Linn, who possessed the pioneer +spring-bed of Thrums, and always knew when her man jumped into it by +suddenly finding herself shot to the ceiling. Lunan, the tinsmith, and +two women, who had the luck to be in the street at the time, saw him +stopping at Dr. McQueen's door, as if about to knock, and then turning +smartly away. His hat blew off in the school wynd, where a wind +wanders ever, looking for hats, and he chased it so passionately that +Lang Tammas went into Allardyce's smiddy to say-- + +"I dinna like it. Of course he couldna afford to lose his hat, but he +should hae run after it mair reverently." + +Gavin, indeed, was troubled. He had avoided speaking of the Egyptian +to his mother. He had gone to McQueen's house to ask the doctor to +accompany him to the Kaims, but with the knocker in his hand he +changed his mind, and now he was at the place of meeting alone. It was +a day of thaw, nothing to be heard from a distance but the swish of +curling-stones through water on Rashie-bog, where the match for the +eldership was going on. Around him, Gavin saw only dejected firs with +drops of water falling listlessly from them, clods of snow, and grass +that rustled as if animals were crawling through it. All the roads +were slack. + +I suppose no young man to whom society has not become a cheap thing +can be in Gavin's position, awaiting the coming of an attractive girl, +without giving thought to what he should say to her. When in the +pulpit or visiting the sick, words came in a rush to the little +minister, but he had to set his teeth to determine what to say to the +Egyptian. + +This was because he had not yet decided which of two women she was. +Hardly had he started on one line of thought when she crossed his +vision in a new light, and drew him after her. + +Her "Need that make any difference?" sang in his ear like another +divit, cast this time at religion itself, and now he spoke aloud, +pointing his finger at a fir: "I said at the mud house that I believed +you because I knew you. To my shame be it said that I spoke falsely. +How dared you bewitch me? In your presence I flung away the precious +hours in frivolity; I even forgot the Sabbath. For this I have myself +to blame. I am an unworthy preacher of the Word. I sinned far more +than you who have been brought up godlessly from your cradle. +Nevertheless, whoever you are, I call upon you, before we part never +to meet again, to repent of your----" + +And then it was no mocker of the Sabbath he was addressing, but a +woman with a child's face, and there were tears in her eyes. "Do you +care?" she was saying, and again he answered, "Yes, I care." This +girl's name was not Woman, but Babbie. + +Now Gavin made an heroic attempt to look upon both these women at +once. "Yes, I believe in you," he said to them, "but henceforth you +must send your money to Nanny by another messenger. You are a gypsy +and I am a minister; and that must part us. I refuse to see you again. +I am not angry with you, but as a minister----" + +It was not the disappearance of one of the women that clipped this +argument short; it was Babbie singing-- + + "It fell on a day, on a bonny summer day, + When the corn grew green and yellow, + That there fell out a great dispute + Between Argyle and Airly. + + "The Duke of Montrose has written to Argyle + To come in the morning early, + An' lead in his men by the back o' Dunkeld + To plunder the bonny house o' Airly." + +"Where are you?" cried Gavin in bewilderment. + +"I am watching you from my window so high," answered the Egyptian; and +then the minister, looking up, saw her peering at him from a fir. + +"How did you get up there?" he asked in amazement. + +"On my broomstick," Babbie replied, and sang on-- + + "The lady looked o'er her window sae high, + And oh! but she looked weary, + And there she espied the great Argyle + Come to plunder the bonny house o' Airly." + +"What are you doing there?" Gavin said, wrathfully. + +"This is my home," she answered. "I told you I lived in a tree." + +"Come down at once," ordered Gavin. To which the singer responded-- + + "'Come down, come down, Lady Margaret,' he says; + 'Come down and kiss me fairly + Or before the morning clear day light + I'll no leave a standing stane in Airly.'" + +"If you do not come down this instant," Gavin said in a rage, "and +give me what I was so foolish as to come for, I----" + +The Egyptian broke in-- + + "'I wouldna kiss thee, great Argyle, + I wouldna kiss thee fairly; + I wouldna kiss thee, great Argyle, + Gin you shouldna leave a standing stane in Airly.'" + +"You have deceived Nanny," Gavin cried, hotly, "and you have brought +me here to deride me. I will have no more to do with you." + +He walked away quickly, but she called after him, "I am coming down. I +have the money," and next moment a snowball hit his hat. + +"That is for being cross," she explained, appearing so unexpectedly at +his elbow that he was taken aback. "I had to come close up to you +before I flung it, or it would have fallen over my shoulder. Why are +you so nasty to-day? and, oh, do you know you were speaking to +yourself?" + +"You are mistaken," said Gavin, severely. "I was speaking to you." + +"You didn't see me till I began to sing, did you?" + +"Nevertheless I was speaking to you, or rather, I was saying to myself +what----" + +"What you had decided to say to me?" said the delighted gypsy. "Do you +prepare your talk like sermons? I hope you have prepared something +nice for me. If it is very nice I may give you this bunch of holly." + +She was dressed as he had seen her previously, but for a cluster of +holly berries at her breast. + +"I don't know that you will think it nice," the minister answered, +slowly, "but my duty----" + +"If it is about duty," entreated Babbie, "don't say it. Don't, and I +will give you the berries." + +She took the berries from her dress, smiling triumphantly the while +like one who had discovered a cure for duty; and instead of pointing +the finger of wrath at her, Gavin stood expectant. + +"But no," he said, remembering who he was, and pushing the gift from +him, "I will not be bribed. I must tell you----" + +"Now," said the Egyptian, sadly, "I see you are angry with me. Is it +because I said I lived in a tree? Do forgive me for that dreadful +lie." + +She had gone on her knees before he could stop her, and was gazing +imploringly at him, with her hands clasped. + +"You are mocking me again," said Gavin, "but I am not angry with you. +Only you must understand----" + +She jumped up and put her fingers to her ears. + +"You see I can hear nothing," she said. + +"Listen while I tell you----" + +"I don't hear a word. Why do you scold me when I have kept my promise? +If I dared to take my fingers from my ears I would give you the money +for Nanny. And, Mr. Dishart, I must be gone in five minutes." + +"In five minutes!" echoed Gavin, with such a dismal face that Babbie +heard the words with her eyes, and dropped her hands. + +"Why are you in such haste?" he asked, taking the five pounds +mechanically, and forgetting all that he had meant to say. + +"Because they require me at home," she answered, with a sly glance at +her fir. "And, remember, when I run away you must not follow me." + +"I won't," said Gavin, so promptly that she was piqued. + +"Why not?" she asked. "But of course you only came here for the money. +Well, you have got it. Good-bye." + +"You know that was not what I meant," said Gavin, stepping after her. +"I have told you already that whatever other people say, I trust you. +I believe in you, Babbie." + +"Was that what you were saying to the tree?" asked the Egyptian, +demurely. Then, perhaps thinking it wisest not to press this point, +she continued irrelevantly, "It seems such a pity that you are a +minister." + +"A pity to be a minister!" exclaimed Gavin, indignantly. "Why, why, +you--why, Babbie, how have you been brought up?" + +"In a curious way," Babbie answered, shortly, "but I can't tell you +about that just now. Would you like to hear all about me?" Suddenly +she seemed to have become confidential. + +"Do you really think me a gypsy?" she asked. + +"I have tried not to ask myself that question." + +"Why?" + +"Because it seems like doubting your word." + +"I don't see how you can think of me at all without wondering who I +am." + +"No, and so I try not to think of you at all." + +"Oh, I don't know that you need do that." + +"I have not quite succeeded." + +The Egyptian's pique had vanished, but she may have thought that the +conversation was becoming dangerous, for she said abruptly-- + +"Well, I sometimes think about you." + +"Do you?" said Gavin, absurdly gratified. "What do you think about +me?" + +"I wonder," answered the Egyptian, pleasantly, "which of us is the +taller." + +Gavin's fingers twitched with mortification, and not only his fingers +but his toes. + +"Let us measure," she said, sweetly, putting her back to his. "You are +not stretching your neck, are you?" + +But the minister broke away from her. + +"There is one subject," he said, with great dignity, "that I allow no +one to speak of in my presence, and that is my--my height." + +His face was as white as his cravat when the surprised Egyptian next +looked at him, and he was panting like one who has run a mile. She +was ashamed of herself, and said so. + +"It is a topic I would rather not speak about," Gavin answered, +dejectedly, "especially to you." + +He meant that he would rather be a tall man in her company than in any +other, and possibly she knew this, though all she answered was-- + +"You wanted to know if I am really a gypsy. Well, I am." + +"An ordinary gypsy?" + +"Do you think me ordinary?" + +"I wish I knew what to think of you." + +"Ah, well, that is my forbidden topic. But we have a good many ideas +in common after all, have we not, though you are only a minis--I mean, +though I am only a gypsy?" + +There fell between them a silence that gave Babbie time to remember +she must go. + +"I have already stayed too long," she said. "Give my love to Nanny, +and say that I am coming to see her soon, perhaps on Monday. I don't +suppose you will be there on Monday, Mr. Dishart?" + +"I--I cannot say." + +"No, you will be too busy. Are you to take the holly berries?" + +"I had better not," said Gavin, dolefully. + +"Oh, if you don't want them----" + +"Give them to me," he said, and as he took them his hand shook. + +"I know why you are looking so troubled," said the Egyptian, archly. +"You think I am to ask you the colour of my eyes, and you have +forgotten again." + +He would have answered, but she checked him. + +"Make no pretence," she said, severely; "I know you think they are +blue." + +She came close to him until her face almost touched his. + +"Look hard at them," she said, solemnly, "and after this you may +remember that they are black, black, black!" + +At each repetition of the word she shook her head in his face. She was +adorable. Gavin's arms--but they met on nothing. She had run away. + +When the little minister had gone, a man came from behind a tree and +shook his fist in the direction taken by the gypsy. It was Rob Dow, +black with passion. + +"It's the Egyptian!" he cried. "You limmer, wha are you that hae got +haud o' the minister?" + +He pursued her, but she vanished as from Gavin in Windyghoul. + +"A common Egyptian!" he muttered when he had to give up the search. +"But take care, you little devil," he called aloud; "take care; if I +catch you playing pranks wi' that man again I'll wring your neck like +a hen's!" + + + + +Chapter Seventeen. + +INTRUSION OF HAGGART INTO THESE PAGES AGAINST THE AUTHOR'S WISH. + + +Margaret having heard the doctor say that one may catch cold in the +back, had decided instantly to line Gavin's waistcoat with flannel. +She was thus engaged, with pins in her mouth and the scissors hiding +from her every time she wanted them, when Jean, red and flurried, +abruptly entered the room. + +"There! I forgot to knock at the door again," Jean exclaimed, pausing +contritely. + +"Never mind. Is it Rob Dow wanting the minister?" asked Margaret, who +had seen Rob pass the manse dyke. + +"Na, he wasna wanting to see the minister." + +"Ah, then, he came to see you, Jean," said Margaret, archly. + +"A widow man!" cried Jean, tossing her head. "But Rob Dow was in no +condition to be friendly wi' onybody the now." + +"Jean, you don't mean that he has been drinking again?" + +"I canna say he was drunk." + +"Then what condition was he in?" + +"He was in a--a swearing condition," Jean answered, guardedly. "But +what I want to speir at you is, can I gang down to the Tenements for a +minute? I'll run there and back." + +"Certainly you can go, Jean, but you must not run. You are always +running. Did Dow bring you word that you were wanted in the +Tenements?" + +"No exactly, but I--I want to consult Tammas Haggart about--about +something." + +"About Dow, I believe, Jean?" + +"Na, but about something he has done. Oh, ma'am, you surely dinna +think I would take a widow man?" + +It was the day after Gavin's meeting with the Egyptian at the Kaims, +and here is Jean's real reason for wishing to consult Haggart. Half an +hour before she hurried to the parlour she had been at the kitchen +door wondering whether she should spread out her washing in the garret +or risk hanging it in the courtyard. She had just decided on the +garret when she saw Rob Dow morosely regarding her from the gateway. + +"Whaur is he?" growled Rob. + +"He's out, but it's no for me to say whaur he is," replied Jean, whose +weakness was to be considered a church official. "No that I ken," +truthfulness compelled her to add, for she had an ambition to be +everything she thought Gavin would like a woman to be. + +Rob seized her wrists viciously and glowered into her face. + +"You're ane o' them," he said. + +"Let me go. Ane o' what?" + +"Ane o' thae limmers called women." + +"Sal," retorted Jean with spirit, "you're ane o' thae brutes called +men. You're drunk, Rob Dow." + +"In the legs maybe, but no higher. I haud a heap." + +"Drunk again, after all your promises to the minister! And you said +yoursel' that he had pulled you out o' hell by the root." + +"It's himsel' that has flung me back again," Rob said, wildly. "Jean +Baxter, what does it mean when a minister carries flowers in his +pouch; ay, and takes them out to look at them ilka minute?" + +"How do you ken about the holly?" asked Jean, off her guard. + +"You limmer," said Dow, "you've been in his pouches." + +"It's a lie!" cried the outraged Jean. "I just saw the holly this +morning in a jug on his chimley." + +"Carefully put by? Is it hod on the chimley? Does he stand looking at +it? Do you tell me he's fond-like o't?" + +"Mercy me!" Jean exclaimed, beginning to shake; "wha is she, Rob +Dow?" + +"Let me see it first in its jug," Rob answered, slyly, "and syne I may +tell you." + +This was not the only time Jean had been asked to show the minister's +belongings. Snecky Hobart, among others, had tried on Gavin's hat in +the manse kitchen, and felt queer for some time afterwards. Women had +been introduced on tiptoe to examine the handle of his umbrella. But +Rob had not come to admire. He snatched the holly from Jean's hands, +and casting it on the ground pounded it with his heavy boots, crying, +"Greet as you like, Jean. That's the end o' his flowers, and if I had +the tawpie he got them frae I would serve her in the same way." + +"I'll tell him what you've done," said terrified Jean, who had tried +to save the berries at the expense of her fingers. + +"Tell him," Dow roared; "and tell him what I said too. Ay, and tell +him I was at the Kaims yestreen. Tell him I'm hunting high and low for +an Egyptian woman." + +He flung recklessly out of the courtyard, leaving Jean looking blankly +at the mud that had been holly lately. Not his act of sacrilege was +distressing her, but his news. Were these berries a love token? Had +God let Rob Dow say they were a gypsy's love token, and not slain +him? + +That Rob spoke of the Egyptian of the riots Jean never doubted. It was +known that the minister had met this woman in Nanny Webster's house, +but was it not also known that he had given her such a talking-to as +she could never come above? Many could repeat the words in which he +had announced to Nanny that his wealthy friends in Glasgow were to +give her all she needed. They could also tell how majestic he looked +when he turned the Egyptian out of the house. In short, Nanny having +kept her promise of secrecy, the people had been forced to construct +the scene in the mud house for themselves, and it was only their story +that was known to Jean. + +She decided that, so far as the gypsy was concerned, Rob had talked +trash. He had seen the holly in the minister's hand, and, being in +drink, had mixed it up with the gossip about the Egyptian. But that +Gavin had preserved the holly because of the donor was as obvious to +Jean as that the vase in her hand was empty. Who could she be? No +doubt all the single ladies in Thrums were in love with him, but that, +Jean was sure, had not helped them a step forward. + +To think was to Jean a waste of time. Discovering that she had been +thinking, she was dismayed. There were the wet clothes in the basket +looking reproachfully at her. She hastened back to Gavin's room with +the vase, but it too had eyes, and they said, "When the minister +misses his holly he will question you." Now Gavin had already smiled +several times to Jean, and once he had marked passages for her in her +"Pilgrim's Progress," with the result that she prized the marks more +even than the passages. To lose his good opinion was terrible to her. +In her perplexity she decided to consult wise Tammas Haggart, and +hence her appeal to Margaret. + +To avoid Chirsty, the humourist's wife, Jean sought Haggart at his +workshop window, which was so small that an old book sufficed for its +shutter. Haggart, whom she could see distinctly at his loom, soon +guessed from her knocks and signs (for he was strangely quick in the +uptake) that she wanted him to open the window. + +"I want to speak to you confidentially," Jean said in a low voice. "If +you saw a grand man gey fond o' a flower, what would you think?" + +"I would think, Jean," Haggart answered, reflectively, "that he had +gien siller for't; ay, I would wonder----" + +"What would you wonder?" + +"I would wonder how muckle he paid." + +"But if he was a--a minister, and keepit the flower--say it was a +common rose--fond-like on his chimley, what would you think?" + +"I would think it was a black-burning disgrace for a minister to be +fond o' flowers." + +"I dinna haud wi' that." + +"Jean," said Haggart, "I allow no one to contradict me." + +"It wasna my design. But, Tammas, if a--a minister was fond o' a +particular flower--say a rose--and you destroyed it by an accident, +when he wasna looking, what would you do?" + +"I would gie him another rose for't." + +"But if you didna want him to ken you had meddled wi't on his chimley, +what would you do?" + +"I would put the new rose on the chimley, and he would never ken the +differ." + +"That's what I'll do," muttered Jean, but she said aloud-- + +"But it micht be that particular rose he liked?" + +"Havers, Jean. To a thinking man one rose is identical wi' another +rose. But how are you speiring?" + +"Just out o' curiosity, and I maun be stepping now. Thank you kindly, +Tammas, for your humour." + +"You're welcome," Haggart answered, and closed his window. + +That day Rob Dow spent in misery, but so little were his fears +selfish that he scarcely gave a thought to his conduct at the manse. +For an hour he sat at his loom with his arms folded. Then he slouched +out of the house, cursing little Micah, so that a neighbour cried "You +drucken scoundrel!" after him. "He may be a wee drunk," said Micah in +his father's defence, "but he's no mortal." Rob wandered to the Kaims +in search of the Egyptian, and returned home no happier. He flung +himself upon his bed and dared Micah to light the lamp. About gloaming +he rose, unable to keep his mouth shut on his thoughts any longer, and +staggered to the Tenements to consult Haggart. He found the +humourist's door ajar, and Wearyworld listening at it. "Out o' the +road!" cried Rob, savagely, and flung the policeman into the gutter. + +"That was ill-dune, Rob Dow," Wearyworld said, picking himself up +leisurely. + +"I'm thinking it was weel-dune," snarled Rob. + +"Ay," said Wearyworld, "we needna quarrel about a difference o' +opeenion; but, Rob----" + +Dow, however, had already entered the house and slammed the door. + +"Ay, ay," muttered Wearyworld, departing, "you micht hae stood still, +Rob, and argued it out wi' me." + +In less than an hour after his conversation with Jean at the window it +had suddenly struck Haggart that the minister she spoke of must be Mr. +Dishart. In two hours he had confided his suspicions to Chirsty. In +ten minutes she had filled the house with gossips. Rob arrived to find +them in full cry. + +"Ay, Rob," said Chirsty, genially, for gossip levels ranks, "you're +just in time to hear a query about the minister." + +"Rob," said the Glen Quharity post, from whom I subsequently got the +story, "Mr. Dishart has fallen in--in--what do you call the thing, +Chirsty?" + +Birse knew well what the thing was called, but the word is a staggerer +to say in company. + +"In love," answered Chirsty, boldly. + +"Now we ken what he was doing in the country yestreen," said Snecky +Hobart, "the which has been bothering us sair." + +"The manse is fu' o' the flowers she sends him," said Tibbie Craik. +"Jean's at her wits'-end to ken whaur to put them a'." + +"Wha is she?" + +It was Rob Dow who spoke. All saw he had been drinking, or they might +have wondered at his vehemence. As it was, everybody looked at every +other body, and then everybody sighed. + +"Ay, wha is she?" repeated several. + +"I see you ken nothing about her," said Rob, much relieved; and he +then lapsed into silence. + +"We ken a' about her," said Snecky, "except just wha she is. Ay, +that's what we canna bottom. Maybe you could guess, Tammas?" + +"Maybe I could, Sneck," Haggart replied, cautiously; "but on that +point I offer no opinion." + +"If she bides on the Kaims road," said Tibbie Craik, "she maun be a +farmer's dochter. What say you to Bell Finlay?" + +"Na; she's U. P. But it micht be Loups o' Malcolm's sister. She's +promised to Muckle Haws; but no doubt she would gie him the go-by at a +word frae the minister." + +"It's mair likely," said Chirsty, "to be the factor at the Spittal's +lassie. The factor has a grand garden, and that would account for such +basketfuls o' flowers." + +"Whaever she is," said Birse, "I'm thinking he could hae done +better." + +"I'll be fine pleased wi' ony o' them," said Tibbie, who had a magenta +silk, and so was jealous of no one. + +"It hasna been proved," Haggart pointed out, "that the flowers came +frae thae parts. She may be sending them frae Glasgow." + +"I aye understood it was a Glasgow lady," said Snecky. "He'll be like +the Tilliedrum minister that got a lady to send him to the college on +the promise that he would marry her as soon as he got a kirk. She made +him sign a paper." + +"The far-seeing limmer," exclaimed Chirsty. "But if that's what Mr. +Dishart has done, how has he kept it so secret?" + +"He wouldna want the women o' the congregation to ken he was promised +till after they had voted for him." + +"I dinna haud wi' that explanation o't," said Haggart, "but I may tell +you that I ken for sure she's a Glasgow leddy. Lads, ministers is near +aye bespoke afore they're licensed. There's a michty competition for +them in the big toons. Ay, the leddies just stand at the college +gates, as you may say, and snap them up as they come out." + +"And just as well for the ministers, I'se uphaud," said Tibbie, "for +it saves them a heap o' persecution when they come to the like o' +Thrums. There was Mr. Meiklejohn, the U. P. minister: he was no sooner +placed than every genteel woman in the town was persecuting him. The +Miss Dobies was the maist shameless; they fair hunted him." + +"Ay," said Snecky; "and in the tail o' the day ane o' them snacked him +up. Billies, did you ever hear o' a minister being refused?" + +"Never." + +"Weel, then, I have; and by a widow woman too. His name was Samson, +and if it had been Tamson she would hae ta'en him. Ay, you may look, +but it's true. Her name was Turnbull, and she had another gent after +her, name o' Tibbets. She couldna make up her mind atween them, and +for a while she just keeped them dangling on. Ay, but in the end she +took Tibbets. And what, think you, was her reason? As you ken, thae +grand folk has their initials on their spoons and nichtgowns. Ay, +weel, she thocht it would be mair handy to take Tibbets, because if +she had ta'en the minister the _T's_ would have had to be changed to +_S's_. It was thoctfu' o' her." + +"Is Tibbets living?" asked Haggart sharply. + +"No; he's dead." + +"What," asked Haggart, "was the corp to trade?" + +"I dinna ken." + +"I thocht no," said Haggart, triumphantly. "Weel, I warrant he was a +minister too. Ay, catch a woman giving up a minister, except for +another minister." + +All were looking on Haggart with admiration, when a voice from the +door cried-- + +"Listen, and I'll tell you a queerer ane than that." + +"Dagont," cried Birse, "it's Wearywarld, and he has been hearkening. +Leave him to me." + +When the post returned, the conversation was back at Mr. Dishart. + +"Yes, lathies," Haggart was saying, "daftness about women comes to +all, gentle and simple, common and colleged, humourists and no +humourists. You say Mr. Dishart has preached ower muckle at women to +stoop to marriage, but that makes no differ. Mony a humorous thing hae +I said about women, and yet Chirsty has me. It's the same wi' +ministers. A' at aince they see a lassie no' unlike ither lassies, +away goes their learning, and they skirl out, 'You dawtie!' That's +what comes to all." + +"But it hasna come to Mr. Dishart," cried Rob Dow, jumping to his +feet. He had sought Haggart to tell him all, but now he saw the wisdom +of telling nothing. "I'm sick o' your blathers. Instead o' the +minister's being sweethearting yesterday, he was just at the Kaims +visiting the gamekeeper. I met him in the Wast town-end, and gaed +there and back wi' him." + +"That's proof it's a Glasgow leddy," said Snecky. + +"I tell you there's no leddy ava!" swore Rob. + +"Yea, and wha sends the baskets o' flowers, then?" + +"There was only one flower," said Rob, turning to his host. + +"I aye understood," said Haggart heavily, "that there was only one +flower." + +"But though there was just ane," persisted Chirsty, "what we want to +ken is wha gae him it." + +"It was me that gae him it," said Rob; "it was growing on the +roadside, and I plucked it and gae it to him." + +The company dwindled away shamefacedly, yet unconvinced; but Haggart +had courage to say slowly-- + +"Yes, Rob, I had aye a notion that he got it frae you." + +Meanwhile, Gavin, unaware that talk about him and a woman unknown had +broken out in Thrums, was gazing, sometimes lovingly and again with +scorn, at a little bunch of holly-berries which Jean had gathered from +her father's garden. Once she saw him fling them out of his window, +and then she rejoiced. But an hour afterwards she saw him pick them +up, and then she mourned. Nevertheless, to her great delight, he +preached his third sermon against Woman on the following Sabbath. It +was universally acknowledged to be the best of the series. It was also +the last. + + + + +Chapter Eighteen. + +CADDAM--LOVE LEADING TO A RUPTURE. + + +Gavin told himself not to go near the mud house on the following +Monday; but he went. The distance is half a mile, and the time he took +was two hours. This was owing to his setting out due west to reach a +point due north; yet with the intention of deceiving none save +himself. His reason had warned him to avoid the Egyptian, and his +desires had consented to be dragged westward because they knew he had +started too soon. When the proper time came they knocked reason on the +head and carried him straight to Caddam. Here reason came to, and +again began to state its case. Desires permitted him to halt, as if to +argue the matter out, but were thus tolerant merely because from where +he stood he could see Nanny's doorway. When Babbie emerged from it +reason seems to have made one final effort, for Gavin quickly took +that side of a tree which is loved of squirrels at the approach of an +enemy. He looked round the tree-trunk at her, and then reason +discarded him. The gypsy had two empty pans in her hands. For a second +she gazed in the minister's direction, then demurely leaped the ditch +of leaves that separated Nanny's yard from Caddam, and strolled into +the wood. Discovering with indignation that he had been skulking +behind the tree, Gavin came into the open. How good of the Egyptian, +he reflected, to go to the well for water, and thus save the old +woman's arms! Reason shouted from near the manse (he only heard the +echo) that he could still make up on it. "Come along," said his +desires, and marched him prisoner to the well. + +The path which Babbie took that day is lost in blaeberry leaves now, +and my little maid and I lately searched for an hour before we found +the well. It was dry, choked with broom and stones, and broken rusty +pans, but we sat down where Babbie and Gavin had talked, and I stirred +up many memories. Probably two of those pans, that could be broken in +the hands to-day like shortbread, were Nanny's, and almost certainly +the stones are fragments from the great slab that used to cover the +well. Children like to peer into wells to see what the world is like +at the other side, and so this covering was necessary. Rob Angus was +the strong man who bore the stone to Caddam, flinging it a yard before +him at a time. The well had also a wooden lid with leather hinges, and +over this the stone was dragged. + +Gavin arrived at the well in time to offer Babbie the loan of his +arms. In her struggle she had taken her lips into her mouth, but in +vain did she tug at the stone, which refused to do more than turn +round on the wood. But for her presence, the minister's efforts would +have been equally futile. Though not strong, however, he had the +national horror of being beaten before a spectator, and once at school +he had won a fight by telling his big antagonist to come on until the +boy was tired of pummelling him. As he fought with the stone now, +pains shot through his head, and his arms threatened to come away at +the shoulders; but remove it he did. + +"How strong you are!" Babbie said with open admiration. + +I am sure no words of mine could tell how pleased the minister was; +yet he knew he was not strong, and might have known that she had seen +him do many things far more worthy of admiration without admiring +them. This, indeed, is a sad truth, that we seldom give our love to +what is worthiest in its object. + +"How curious that we should have met here," Babbie said, in her +dangerously friendly way, as they filled the pans. "Do you know I +quite started when your shadow fell suddenly on the stone. Did you +happen to be passing through the wood?" + +"No," answered truthful Gavin, "I was looking for you. I thought you +saw me from Nanny's door." + +"Did you? I only saw a man hiding behind a tree, and of course I knew +it could not be you." + +Gavin looked at her sharply, but she was not laughing at him. + +"It was I," he admitted; "but I was not exactly hiding behind the +tree." + +"You had only stepped behind it for a moment," suggested the +Egyptian. + +Her gravity gave way to laughter under Gavin's suspicious looks, but +the laughing ended abruptly. She had heard a noise in the wood, Gavin +heard it too, and they both turned round in time to see two ragged +boys running from them. When boys are very happy they think they must +be doing wrong, and in a wood, of which they are among the natural +inhabitants, they always take flight from the enemy, adults, if given +time. For my own part, when I see a boy drop from a tree I am as +little surprised as if he were an apple or a nut. But Gavin was +startled, picturing these spies handing in the new sensation about him +at every door, as a district visitor distributes tracts. The gypsy +noted his uneasiness and resented it. + +"What does it feel like to be afraid?" she asked, eyeing him. + +"I am afraid of nothing," Gavin answered, offended in turn. + +"Yes, you are. When you saw me come out of Nanny's you crept behind a +tree; when these boys showed themselves you shook. You are afraid of +being seen with me. Go away, then; I don't want you." + +"Fear," said Gavin, "is one thing, and prudence is another." + +"Another name for it," Babbie interposed. + +"Not at all; but I owe it to my position to be careful. Unhappily, you +do not seem to feel--to recognise--to know----" + +"To know what?" + +"Let us avoid the subject." + +"No," the Egyptian said, petulantly. "I hate not to be told things. +Why must you be 'prudent?'" + +"You should see," Gavin replied, awkwardly, "that there is a--a +difference between a minister and a gypsy." + +"But if I am willing to overlook it?" asked Babbie, impertinently. + +Gavin beat the brushwood mournfully with his staff. + +"I cannot allow you," he said, "to talk disrespectfully of my calling. +It is the highest a man can follow. I wish----" + +He checked himself; but he was wishing she could see him in his +pulpit. + +"I suppose," said the gypsy, reflectively, "one must be very clever to +be a minister." + +"As for that----" answered Gavin, waving his hand grandly. + +"And it must be nice, too," continued Babbie, "to be able to speak for +a whole hour to people who can neither answer nor go away. Is it true +that before you begin to preach you lock the door to keep the +congregation in?" + +"I must leave you if you talk in that way." + +"I only wanted to know." + +"Oh, Babbie, I am afraid you have little acquaintance with the inside +of churches. Do you sit under anybody?" + +"Do I sit under anybody?" repeated Babbie, blankly. + +Is it any wonder that the minister sighed? "Whom do you sit under?" +was his form of salutation to strangers. + +"I mean, where do you belong?" he said. + +"Wanderers," Babbie answered, still misunderstanding him, "belong to +nowhere in particular." + +"I am only asking you if you ever go to church?" + +"Oh, that is what you mean. Yes, I go often." + +"What church?" + +"You promised not to ask questions." + +"I only mean what denomination do you belong to?" + +"Oh, the--the----Is there an English church denomination?" + +Gavin groaned. + +"Well, that is my denomination," said Babbie, cheerfully. "Some day, +though, I am coming to hear you preach. I should like to see how you +look in your gown." + +"We don't wear gowns." + +"What a shame! But I am coming, nevertheless. I used to like going to +church in Edinburgh." + +"You have lived in Edinburgh?" + +"We gypsies have lived everywhere," Babbie said, lightly, though she +was annoyed at having mentioned Edinburgh. + +"But all gypsies don't speak as you do," said Gavin, puzzled again. "I +don't understand you." + +"Of course you dinna," replied Babbie, in broad Scotch. "Maybe, if you +did, you would think that it's mair imprudent in me to stand here +cracking clavers wi' the minister than for the minister to waste his +time cracking wi' me." + +"Then why do it?" + +"Because----Oh, because prudence and I always take different roads." + +"Tell me who you are, Babbie," the minister entreated; "at least, tell +me where your encampment is." + +"You have warned me against imprudence," she said. + +"I want," Gavin continued, earnestly, "to know your people, your +father and mother." + +"Why?" + +"Because," he answered, stoutly, "I like their daughter." + +At that Babbie's fingers played on one of the pans, and, for the +moment, there was no more badinage in her. + +"You are a good man," she said, abruptly; "but you will never know my +parents." + +"Are they dead?" + +"They may be; I cannot tell." + +"This is all incomprehensible to me." + +"I suppose it is. I never asked any one to understand me." + +"Perhaps not," said Gavin, excitedly; "but the time has come when I +must know everything of you that is to be known." + +Babbie receded from him in quick fear. + +"You must never speak to me in that way again," she said, in a warning +voice. + +"In what way?" + +Gavin knew what way very well, but he thirsted to hear in her words +what his own had implied. She did not choose to oblige him, however. + +"You never will understand me," she said. "I daresay I might be more +like other people now, if--if I had been brought up differently. Not," +she added, passionately, "that I want to be like others. Do you never +feel, when you have been living a humdrum life for months, that you +must break out of it, or go crazy?" + +Her vehemence alarmed Gavin, who hastened to reply-- + +"My life is not humdrum. It is full of excitement, anxieties, +pleasures, and I am too fond of the pleasures. Perhaps it is because I +have more of the luxuries of life than you that I am so content with +my lot." + +"Why, what can you know of luxuries?" + +"I have eighty pounds a year." + +Babbie laughed. "Are ministers so poor?" she asked, calling back her +gravity. + +"It is a considerable sum," said Gavin, a little hurt, for it was the +first time he had ever heard any one speak disrespectfully of eighty +pounds. + +The Egyptian looked down at her ring, and smiled. + +"I shall always remember your saying that," she told him, "after we +have quarrelled." + +"We shall not quarrel," said Gavin, decidedly. + +"Oh, yes, we shall." + +"We might have done so once, but we know each other too well now." + +"That is why we are to quarrel." + +"About what?" said the minister. "I have not blamed you for deriding +my stipend, though how it can seem small in the eyes of a gypsy----" + +"Who can afford," broke in Babbie, "to give Nanny seven shillings a +week?" + +"True," Gavin said, uncomfortably, while the Egyptian again toyed with +her ring. She was too impulsive to be reticent except now and then, +and suddenly she said, "You have looked at this ring before now. Do +you know that if you had it on your finger you would be more worth +robbing than with eighty pounds in each of your pockets?" + +"Where did you get it?" demanded Gavin, fiercely. + +"I am sorry I told you that," the gypsy said, regretfully. + +"Tell me how you got it," Gavin insisted, his face now hard. + +"Now, you see, we are quarrelling." + +"I must know." + +"Must know! You forget yourself," she said haughtily. + +"No, but I have forgotten myself too long. Where did you get that +ring?" + +"Good afternoon to you," said the Egyptian, lifting her pans. + +"It is not good afternoon," he cried, detaining her. "It is good-bye +for ever, unless you answer me." + +"As you please," she said. "I will not tell you where I got my ring. +It is no affair of yours." + +"Yes, Babbie, it is." + +She was not, perhaps, greatly grieved to hear him say so, for she made +no answer. + +"You are no gypsy," he continued, suspiciously. + +"Perhaps not," she answered, again taking the pans. + +"This dress is but a disguise." + +"It may be. Why don't you go away and leave me?" + +"I am going," he replied, wildly. "I will have no more to do with you. +Formerly I pitied you, but----" + +He could not have used a word more calculated to rouse the Egyptian's +ire, and she walked away with her head erect. Only once did she look +back, and it was to say-- + +"This is prudence--now." + + + + +Chapter Nineteen. + +CIRCUMSTANCES LEADING TO THE FIRST SERMON IN APPROVAL OF WOMEN. + + +A young man thinks that he alone of mortals is impervious to love, and +so the discovery that he is in it suddenly alters his views of his own +mechanism. It is thus not unlike a rap on the funny-bone. Did Gavin +make this discovery when the Egyptian left him? Apparently he only +came to the brink of it and stood blind. He had driven her from him +for ever, and his sense of loss was so acute that his soul cried out +for the cure rather than for the name of the malady. + +In time he would have realised what had happened, but time was denied +him, for just as he was starting for the mud house Babbie saved his +dignity by returning to him. It was not her custom to fix her eyes on +the ground as she walked, but she was doing so now, and at the same +time swinging the empty pans. Doubtless she had come back for more +water, in the belief that Gavin had gone. He pronounced her name with +a sense of guilt, and she looked up surprised, or seemingly surprised, +to find him still there. + +"I thought you had gone away long ago," she said stiffly. + +"Otherwise," asked Gavin the dejected, "you would not have come back +to the well?" + +"Certainly not." + +"I am very sorry. Had you waited another moment I should have been +gone." + +This was said in apology, but the wilful Egyptian chose to change its +meaning. + +"You have no right to blame me for disturbing you," she declared with +warmth. + +"I did not. I only----" + +"You could have been a mile away by this time. Nanny wanted more +water." + +Babbie scrutinised the minister sharply as she made this statement. +Surely her conscience troubled her, for on his not answering +immediately she said, "Do you presume to disbelieve me? What could +have made me return except to fill the pans again?" + +"Nothing," Gavin admitted eagerly, "and I assure you----" + +Babbie should have been grateful to his denseness, but it merely set +her mind at rest. + +"Say anything against me you choose," she told him. "Say it as +brutally as you like, for I won't listen." + +She stopped to hear his response to that, and she looked so cold that +it almost froze on Gavin's lips. + +"I had no right," he said, dolefully, "to speak to you as I did." + +"You had not," answered the proud Egyptian. She was looking away from +him to show that his repentance was not even interesting to her. +However, she had forgotten already not to listen. + +"What business is it of mine?" asked Gavin, amazed at his late +presumption, "whether you are a gypsy or no?" + +"None whatever." + +"And as for the ring----" + +Here he gave her an opportunity of allowing that his curiosity about +the ring was warranted. She declined to help him, however, and so he +had to go on. + +"The ring is yours," he said, "and why should you not wear it?" + +"Why, indeed?" + +"I am afraid I have a very bad temper." + +He paused for a contradiction, but she nodded her head in agreement. + +"And it is no wonder," he continued, "that you think me a--a brute." + +"I'm sure it is not." + +"But, Babbie, I want you to know that I despise myself for my base +suspicions. No sooner did I see them than I loathed them and myself +for harbouring them. Despite this mystery, I look upon you as a +noble-hearted girl. I shall always think of you so." + +This time Babbie did not reply. + +"That was all I had to say," concluded Gavin, "except that I hope you +will not punish Nanny for my sins. Good-bye." + +"Good-bye," said the Egyptian, who was looking at the well. + +The minister's legs could not have heard him give the order to march, +for they stood waiting. + +"I thought," said the Egyptian, after a moment, "that you said you +were going." + +"I was only--brushing my hat," Gavin answered with dignity. "You want +me to go?" + +She bowed, and this time he did set off. + +"You can go if you like," she remarked now. + +He turned at this. + +"But you said----" he began, diffidently. + +"No, I did not," she answered, with indignation. + +He could see her face at last. + +"You--you are crying!" he exclaimed, in bewilderment. + +"Because you are so unfeeling," sobbed Babbie. + +"What have I said, what have I done?" cried Gavin, in an agony of +self-contempt. "Oh, that I had gone away at once!" + +"That is cruel." + +"What is?" + +"To say that." + +"What did I say?" + +"That you wished you had gone away." + +"But surely," the minister faltered, "you asked me to go." + +"How can you say so?" asked the gypsy, reproachfully. + +Gavin was distracted. "On my word," he said, earnestly, "I thought you +did. And now I have made you unhappy. Babbie, I wish I were anybody +but myself; I am a hopeless lout." + +"Now you are unjust," said Babbie, hiding her face. + +"Again? To you?" + +"No, you stupid," she said, beaming on him in her most delightful +manner, "to yourself!" + +She gave him both her hands impetuously, and he did not let them go +until she added: + +"I am so glad that you are reasonable at last. Men are so much more +unreasonable than women, don't you think?" + +"Perhaps we are," Gavin said, diplomatically. + +"Of course you are. Why, every one knows that. Well, I forgive you; +only remember, you have admitted that it was all your fault?" + +She was pointing her finger at him like a schoolmistress, and Gavin +hastened to answer-- + +"You were not to blame at all." + +"I like to hear you say that," explained the representative of the +more reasonable sex, "because it was really all my fault." + +"No, no." + +"Yes, it was; but of course I could not say so until you had asked my +pardon. You must understand that?" + +The representative of the less reasonable sex could not understand it, +but he agreed recklessly, and it seemed so plain to the woman that she +continued confidentially-- + +"I pretended that I did not want to make it up, but I did." + +"Did you?" asked Gavin, elated. + +"Yes, but nothing could have induced me to make the first advance. You +see why?" + +"Because I was so unreasonable?" asked Gavin, doubtfully. + +"Yes, and nasty. You admit you were nasty?" + +"Undoubtedly, I have an evil temper. It has brought me to shame many +times." + +"Oh, I don't know," said the Egyptian, charitably. "I like it. I +believe I admire bullies." + +"Did I bully you?" + +"I never knew such a bully. You quite frightened me." + +Gavin began to be less displeased with himself. + +"You are sure," inquired Babbie, "that you had no right to question me +about the ring?" + +"Certain," answered Gavin. + +"Then I will tell you all about it," said Babbie, "for it is natural +that you should want to know." + +He looked eagerly at her, and she had become serious and sad. + +"I must tell you at the same time," she said, "who I am, and +then--then we shall never see each other any more." + +"Why should you tell me?" cried Gavin, his hand rising to stop her. + +"Because you have a right to know," she replied, now too much in +earnest to see that she was yielding a point. "I should prefer not to +tell you; yet there is nothing wrong in my secret, and it may make you +think of me kindly when I have gone away." + +"Don't speak in that way, Babbie, after you have forgiven me." + +"Did I hurt you? It was only because I know that you cannot trust me +while I remain a mystery. I know you would try to trust me, but +doubts would cross your mind. Yes, they would; they are the shadows +that mysteries cast. Who can believe a gypsy if the odds are against +her?" + +"I can," said Gavin; but she shook her head, and so would he had he +remembered three recent sermons of his own preaching. + +"I had better tell you all," she said, with an effort. + +"It is my turn now to refuse to listen to you," exclaimed Gavin, who +was only a chivalrous boy. "Babbie, I should like to hear your story, +but until you want to tell it to me I will not listen to it. I have +faith in your honour, and that is sufficient." + +It was boyish, but I am glad Gavin said it; and now Babbie admired +something in him that deserved admiration. His faith, no doubt, made +her a better woman. + +"I admit that I would rather tell you nothing just now," she said, +gratefully. "You are sure you will never say again that you don't +understand me?" + +"Quite sure," said Gavin, bravely. "And by-and-by you will offer to +tell me of your free will?" + +"Oh, don't let us think of the future," answered Babbie. "Let us be +happy for the moment." + +This had been the Egyptian's philosophy always, but it was ill-suited +for Auld Licht ministers, as one of them was presently to discover. + +"I want to make one confession, though," Babbie continued, almost +reluctantly. "When you were so nasty a little while ago, I didn't go +back to Nanny's. I stood watching you from behind a tree, and then, +for an excuse to come back, I--I poured out the water. Yes, and I told +you another lie. I really came back to admit that it was all my fault, +if I could not get you to say that it was yours. I am so glad you gave +in first." + +She was very near him, and the tears had not yet dried on her eyes. +They were laughing eyes, eyes in distress, imploring eyes. Her pale +face, smiling, sad, dimpled, yet entreating forgiveness, was the one +prominent thing in the world to him just then. He wanted to kiss her. +He would have done it as soon as her eyes rested on his, but she +continued without regarding him-- + +"How mean that sounds! Oh, if I were a man I should wish to be +everything that I am not, and nothing that I am. I should scorn to be +a liar, I should choose to be open in all things, I should try to +fight the world honestly. But I am only a woman, and so--well, that is +the kind of man I should like to marry." + +"A minister may be all these things," said Gavin, breathlessly. + +"The man I could love," Babbie went on, not heeding him, almost +forgetting that he was there, "must not spend his days in idleness as +the men I know do." + +"I do not." + +"He must be brave, no mere worker among others, but a leader of men." + +"All ministers are." + +"Who makes his influence felt." + +"Assuredly." + +"And takes the side of the weak against the strong, even though the +strong be in the right." + +"Always my tendency." + +"A man who has a mind of his own, and having once made it up stands to +it in defiance even of----" + +"Of his session." + +"Of the world. He must understand me." + +"I do." + +"And be my master." + +"It is his lawful position in the house." + +"He must not yield to my coaxing or tempers." + +"It would be weakness." + +"But compel me to do his bidding; yes, even thrash me if----" + +"If you won't listen to reason. Babbie," cried Gavin, "I am that +man!" + +Here the inventory abruptly ended, and these two people found +themselves staring at each other, as if of a sudden they had heard +something dreadful. I do not know how long they stood thus, motionless +and horrified. I cannot tell even which stirred first. All I know is +that almost simultaneously they turned from each other and hurried out +of the wood in opposite directions. + + + + +Chapter Twenty. + +END OF THE STATE OF INDECISION. + + +Long before I had any thought of writing this story, I had told it so +often to my little maid that she now knows some of it better than I. +If you saw me looking up from my paper to ask her, "What was it that +Birse said to Jean about the minister's flowers?" or, "Where was +Hendry Munn hidden on the night of the riots?" and heard her confident +answers, you would conclude that she had been in the thick of these +events, instead of born many years after them. I mention this now +because I have reached a point where her memory contradicts mine. She +maintains that Rob Dow was told of the meeting in the wood by the two +boys whom it disturbed, while my own impression is that he was a +witness of it. If she is right, Rob must have succeeded in frightening +the boys into telling no other person, for certainly the scandal did +not spread in Thrums. After all, however, it is only important to know +that Rob did learn of the meeting. Its first effect was to send him +sullenly to the drink. + +Many a time since these events have I pictured what might have been +their upshot had Dow confided their discovery to me. Had I suspected +why Rob was grown so dour again, Gavin's future might have been very +different. I was meeting Rob now and again in the glen, asking, with +an affected carelessness he did not bottom, for news of the little +minister, but what he told me was only the gossip of the town; and +what I should have known, that Thrums might never know it, he kept to +himself. I suppose he feared to speak to Gavin, who made several +efforts to reclaim him, but without avail. + +Yet Rob's heart opened for a moment to one man, or rather was forced +open by that man. A few days after the meeting at the well, Rob was +bringing the smell of whisky with him down Banker's Close when he ran +against a famous staff, with which the doctor pinned him to the wall. + +"Ay," said the outspoken doctor, looking contemptuously into Rob's +bleary eyes, "so this is what your conversion amounts to? Faugh! Rob +Dow, if you were half a man the very thought of what Mr. Dishart has +done for you would make you run past the public houses." + +"It's the thocht o' him that sends me running to them," growled Rob, +knocking down the staff. "Let me alane." + +"What do you mean by that?" demanded McQueen, hooking him this time. + +"Speir at himsel'; speir at the woman." + +"What woman?" + +"Take your staff out o' my neck." + +"Not till you tell me why you, of all people, are speaking against the +minister." + +Torn by a desire for a confidant and loyalty to Gavin, Rob was already +in a fury. + +"Say again," he burst forth, "that I was speaking agin the minister +and I'll practise on you what I'm awid to do to her." + +"Who is she?" + +"Wha's wha?" + +"The woman whom the minister----?" + +"I said nothing about a woman," said poor Rob, alarmed for Gavin. +"Doctor, I'm ready to swear afore a bailie that I never saw them +thegither at the Kaims." + +"The Kaims!" exclaimed the doctor suddenly enlightened. "Pooh! you +only mean the Egyptian. Rob, make your mind easy about this. I know +why he met her there." + +"Do you ken that she has bewitched him; do you ken I saw him trying to +put his arms round her; do you ken they have a trysting-place in +Caddam wood?" + +This came from Rob in a rush, and he would fain have called it all +back. + +"I'm drunk, doctor, roaring drunk," he said, hastily, "and it wasna +the minister I saw ava; it was another man." + +Nothing more could the doctor draw from Rob, but he had heard +sufficient to smoke some pipes on. Like many who pride themselves on +being recluses, McQueen loved the gossip that came to him uninvited; +indeed, he opened his mouth to it as greedily as any man in Thrums. He +respected Gavin, however, too much to find this new dish palatable, +and so his researches to discover whether other Auld Lichts shared +Rob's fears were conducted with caution. "Is there no word of your +minister's getting a wife yet?" he asked several, but only got for +answers, "There's word o' a Glasgow leddy's sending him baskets o' +flowers," or "He has his een open, but he's taking his time; ay, he's +looking for the blade o' corn in the stack o' chaff." + +This convinced McQueen that the congregation knew nothing of the +Egyptian, but it did not satisfy him, and he made an opportunity of +inviting Gavin into the surgery. It was, to the doctor, the cosiest +nook in his house, but to me and many others a room that smelled of +hearses. On the top of the pipes and tobacco tins that littered the +table there usually lay a death certificate, placed there deliberately +by the doctor to scare his sister, who had a passion for putting the +surgery to rights. + +"By the way," McQueen said, after he and Gavin had talked a little +while, "did I ever advise you to smoke?" + +"It is your usual form of salutation," Gavin answered, laughing. "But +I don't think you ever supplied me with a reason." + +"I daresay not. I am too experienced a doctor to cheapen my +prescriptions in that way. However, here is one good reason. I have +noticed, sir, that at your age a man is either a slave to a pipe or to +a woman. Do you want me to lend you a pipe now?" + +"Then I am to understand," asked Gavin, slyly, "that your locket came +into your possession in your pre-smoking days, and that you merely +wear it from habit?" + +"Tuts!" answered the doctor, buttoning his coat. "I told you there was +nothing in the locket. If there is, I have forgotten what it is." + +"You are a hopeless old bachelor, I see," said Gavin, unaware that the +doctor was probing him. He was surprised next moment to find McQueen +in the ecstasies of one who has won a rubber. + +"Now, then," cried the jubilant doctor, "as you have confessed so +much, tell me all about her. Name and address, please." + +"Confess! What have I confessed?" + +"It won't do, Mr. Dishart, for even your face betrays you. No, no, I +am an old bird, but I have not forgotten the ways of the fledgelings. +'Hopeless bachelor,' sir, is a sweetmeat in every young man's mouth +until of a sudden he finds it sour, and that means the banns. When is +it to be?" + +"We must find the lady first," said the minister, uncomfortably. + +"You tell me, in spite of that face, that you have not fixed on her?" + +"The difficulty, I suppose, would be to persuade her to fix on me." + +"Not a bit of it. But you admit there is some one?" + +"Who would have me?" + +"You are wriggling out of it. Is it the banker's daughter?" + +"No," Gavin cried. + +"I hear you have walked up the back wynd with her three times this +week. The town is in a ferment about it." + +"She is a great deal in the back wynd." + +"Fiddle-de-dee! I am oftener in the back wynd than you, and I never +meet her there." + +"That is curious." + +"No, it isn't, but never mind. Perhaps you have fallen to Miss +Pennycuick's piano? Did you hear it going as we passed the house?" + +"She seems always to be playing on her piano." + +"Not she; but you are supposed to be musical, and so when she sees you +from her window she begins to thump. If I am in the school wynd and +hear the piano going, I know you will turn the corner immediately. +However, I am glad to hear it is not Miss Pennycuick. Then it is the +factor at the Spittal's lassie? Well done, sir. You should arrange to +have the wedding at the same time as the old earl's, which comes off +in summer, I believe." + +"One foolish marriage is enough in a day, doctor." + +"Eh? You call him a fool for marrying a young wife? Well, no doubt he +is, but he would have been a bigger fool to marry an old one. However, +it is not Lord Rintoul we are discussing, but Gavin Dishart. I suppose +you know that the factor's lassie is an heiress?" + +"And, therefore, would scorn me." + +"Try her," said the doctor, drily. "Her father and mother, as I know, +married on a ten-pound note. But if I am wrong again, I must adopt the +popular view in Thrums. It is a Glasgow lady after all? Man, you +needn't look indignant at hearing that the people are discussing your +intended. You can no more stop it than a doctor's orders could keep +Lang Tammas out of church. They have discovered that she sends you +flowers twice every week." + +"They never reach me," answered Gavin, then remembered the holly and +winced. + +"Some," persisted the relentless doctor, "even speak of your having +been seen together; but of course, if she is a Glasgow lady, that is a +mistake." + +"Where did they see us?" asked Gavin, with a sudden trouble in his +throat. + +"You are shaking," said the doctor, keenly, "like a medical student at +his first operation. But as for the story that you and the lady have +been seen together, I can guess how it arose. Do you remember that +gypsy girl?" + +The doctor had begun by addressing the fire, but he suddenly wheeled +round and fired his question in the minister's face. Gavin, however, +did not even blink. + +"Why should I have forgotten her?" he replied, coolly. + +"Oh, in the stress of other occupations. But it was your getting the +money from her at the Kaims for Nanny that I was to speak of. Absurd +though it seems, I think some dotard must have seen you and her at the +Kaims, and mistaken her for the lady." + +McQueen flung himself back in his chair to enjoy this joke. + +"Fancy mistaking that woman for a lady!" he said to Gavin, who had not +laughed with him. + +"I think Nanny has some justification for considering her a lady," the +minister said, firmly. + +"Well, I grant that. But what made me guffaw was a vision of the +harum-scarum, devil-may-care little Egyptian mistress of an Auld Licht +manse!" + +"She is neither harum-scarum nor devil-may-care," Gavin answered, +without heat, for he was no longer a distracted minister. "You don't +understand her as I do." + +"No, I seem to understand her differently." + +"What do you know of her?" + +"That is just it," said the doctor, irritated by Gavin's coolness. "I +know she saved Nanny from the poorhouse, but I don't know where she +got the money. I know she can talk fine English when she chooses, but +I don't know where she learned it. I know she heard that the soldiers +were coming to Thrums before they knew of their destination +themselves, but I don't know who told her. You who understand her can +doubtless explain these matters?" + +"She offered to explain them to me," Gavin answered, still unmoved, +"but I forbade her." + +"Why?" + +"It is no business of yours, doctor. Forgive me for saying so." + +"In Thrums," replied McQueen, "a minister's business is everybody's +business. I have often wondered who helped her to escape from the +soldiers that night. Did she offer to explain that to you?" + +"She did not." + +"Perhaps," said the doctor, sharply, "because it was unnecessary?" + +"That was the reason." + +"You helped her to escape?" + +"I did." + +"And you are not ashamed of it?" + +"I am not." + +"Why were you so anxious to screen her?" + +"She saved some of my people from gaol." + +"Which was more than they deserved." + +"I have always understood that you concealed two of them in your own +stable." + +"Maybe I did," the doctor had to allow. "But I took my stick to them +next morning. Besides, they were Thrums folk, while you had never set +eyes on that imp of mischief before." + +"I cannot sit here, doctor, and hear her called names," Gavin said, +rising, but McQueen gripped him by the shoulder. + +"For pity's sake, sir, don't let us wrangle like a pair of women. I +brought you here to speak my mind to you, and speak it I will. I warn +you, Mr. Dishart, that you are being watched. You have been seen +meeting this lassie in Caddam as well as at the Kaims." + +"Let the whole town watch, doctor. I have met her openly." + +"And why? Oh, don't make Nanny your excuse." + +"I won't. I met her because I love her." + +"Are you mad?" cried McQueen. "You speak as if you would marry her." + +"Yes," replied Gavin, determinedly, "and I mean to do it." + +The doctor flung up his hands. + +"I give you up," he said, raging. "I give you up. Think of your +congregation, man." + +"I have been thinking of them, and as soon as I have a right to do so +I shall tell them what I have told you." + +"And until you tell them I will keep your madness to myself, for I +warn you that, as soon as they do know, there will be a vacancy in the +Auld Licht kirk of Thrums." + +"She is a woman," said Gavin, hesitating, though preparing to go, "of +whom any minister might be proud." + +"She is a woman," the doctor roared, "that no congregation would +stand. Oh, if you will go, there is your hat." + +Perhaps Gavin's face was whiter as he left the house than when he +entered it, but there was no other change. Those who were watching him +decided that he was looking much as usual, except that his mouth was +shut very firm, from which they concluded that he had been taking the +doctor to task for smoking. They also noted that he returned to +McQueen's house within half an hour after leaving it, but remained no +time. + +Some explained this second visit by saying that the minister had +forgotten his cravat, and had gone back for it. What really sent him +back, however, was his conscience. He had said to McQueen that he +helped Babbie to escape from the soldiers because of her kindness to +his people, and he returned to own that it was a lie. + +Gavin knocked at the door of the surgery, but entered without waiting +for a response. McQueen was no longer stamping through the room, red +and furious. He had even laid aside his pipe. He was sitting back in +his chair, looking half-mournfully, half-contemptuously, at something +in his palm. His hand closed instinctively when he heard the door +open, but Gavin had seen that the object was an open locket. + +"It was only your reference to the thing," the detected doctor said, +with a grim laugh, "that made me open it. Forty years ago, sir, +I----Phew! it is forty-two years, and I have not got over it yet." He +closed the locket with a snap. "I hope you have come back, Dishart, to +speak more rationally?" + +Gavin told him why he had come back, and the doctor said he was a fool +for his pains. + +"Is it useless, Dishart, to make another appeal to you?" + +"Quite useless, doctor," Gavin answered, promptly. "My mind is made up +at last." + + + + +Chapter Twenty-One. + +NIGHT--MARGARET--FLASHING OF A LANTERN. + + +That evening the little minister sat silently in his parlour. Darkness +came, and with it weavers rose heavy-eyed from their looms, sleepy +children sought their mothers, and the gate of the field above the +manse fell forward to let cows pass to their byre; the great Bible was +produced in many homes, and the ten o'clock bell clanged its last word +to the night. Margaret had allowed the lamp to burn low. Thinking that +her boy slept, she moved softly to his side and spread her shawl over +his knees. He had forgotten her. The doctor's warnings scarcely +troubled him. He was Babbie's lover. The mystery of her was only a +veil hiding her from other men, and he was looking through it upon the +face of his beloved. + +It was a night of long ago, but can you not see my dear Margaret still +as she bends over her son? Not twice in many days dared the minister +snatch a moment's sleep from grey morning to midnight, and, when this +did happen, he jumped up by-and-by in shame, to revile himself for an +idler and ask his mother wrathfully why she had not tumbled him out of +his chair? To-night Margaret was divided between a desire to let him +sleep and a fear of his self-reproach when he awoke; and so, perhaps, +the tear fell that roused him. + +"I did not like to waken you," Margaret said, apprehensively. "You +must have been very tired, Gavin?" + +"I was not sleeping, mother," he said, slowly. "I was only thinking." + +"Ah, Gavin, you never rise from your loom. It is hardly fair that your +hands should be so full of other people's troubles." + +"They only fill one hand, mother; I carry the people's joys in the +other hand, and that keeps me erect, like a woman between her pan and +pitcher. I think the joys have outweighed the sorrows since we came +here." + +"It has been all joy to me, Gavin, for you never tell me of the +sorrows. An old woman has no right to be so happy." + +"Old woman, mother!" said Gavin. But his indignation was vain. +Margaret was an old woman. I made her old before her time. + +"As for these terrible troubles," he went on, "I forget them the +moment I enter the garden and see you at your window. And, maybe, I +keep some of the joys from you as well as the troubles." + +Words about Babbie leaped to his mouth, but with an effort he +restrained them. He must not tell his mother of her until Babbie of +her free will had told him all there was to tell. + +"I have been a selfish woman, Gavin." + +"You selfish, mother!" Gavin said, smiling. "Tell me when you did not +think of others before yourself?" + +"Always, Gavin. Has it not been selfishness to hope that you would +never want to bring another mistress to the manse? Do you remember how +angry you used to be in Glasgow when I said that you would marry some +day?" + +"I remember," Gavin said, sadly. + +"Yes; you used to say, 'Don't speak of such a thing, mother, for the +horrid thought of it is enough to drive all the Hebrew out of my +head.' Was not that lightning just now?" + +"I did not see it. What a memory you have, mother, for all the boyish +things I said." + +"I can't deny," Margaret admitted with a sigh, "that I liked to hear +you speak in that way, though I knew you would go back on your word. +You see, you have changed already." + +"How, mother?" asked Gavin, surprised. + +"You said just now that those were boyish speeches. Gavin, I can't +understand the mothers who are glad to see their sons married; though +I had a dozen I believe it would be a wrench to lose one of them. It +would be different with daughters. You are laughing, Gavin!" + +"Yes, at your reference to daughters. Would you not have preferred me +to be a girl?" + +"'Deed I would not," answered Margaret, with tremendous conviction. +"Gavin, every woman on earth, be she rich or poor, good or bad, offers +up one prayer about her firstborn, and that is, 'May he be a boy!'" + +"I think you are wrong, mother. The banker's wife told me that there +is nothing for which she thanks the Lord so much as that all her +children are girls." + +"May she be forgiven for that, Gavin!" exclaimed Margaret; "though she +maybe did right to put the best face on her humiliation. No, no, there +are many kinds of women in the world, but there never was one yet that +didn't want to begin with a laddie. You can speculate about a boy so +much more than about a girl. Gavin, what is it a woman thinks about +the day her son is born? yes, and the day before too? She is picturing +him a grown man, and a slip of a lassie taking him from her. Ay, that +is where the lassies have their revenge on the mothers. I remember as +if it were this morning a Harvie fishwife patting your head and asking +who was your sweetheart, and I could never thole the woman again. We +were at the door of the cottage, and I mind I gripped you up in my +arms. You had on a tartan frock with a sash and diamond socks. When I +look back, Gavin, it seems to me that you have shot up from that frock +to manhood in a single hour." + +"There are not many mothers like you," Gavin said, laying his hand +fondly on Margaret's shoulder. + +"There are many better mothers, but few such sons. It is easily seen +why God could not afford me another. Gavin, I am sure that was +lightning." + +"I think it was; but don't be alarmed, mother." + +"I am never frightened when you are with me." + +"And I always will be with you." + +"Ah, if you were married----" + +"Do you think," asked Gavin, indignantly, "that it would make any +difference to you?" + +Margaret did not answer. She knew what a difference it would make. + +"Except," continued Gavin, with a man's obtuseness, "that you would +have a daughter as well as a son to love you and take care of you." + +Margaret could have told him that men give themselves away needlessly +who marry for the sake of their mother, but all she said was-- + +"Gavin, I see you can speak more composedly of marrying now than you +spoke a year ago. If I did not know better, I should think a Thrums +young lady had got hold of you." + +It was a moment before Gavin replied; then he said, gaily-- + +"Really, mother, the way the best of women speak of each other is +lamentable. You say I should be better married, and then you take for +granted that every marriageable woman in the neighbourhood is trying +to kidnap me. I am sure you did not take my father by force in that +way." + +He did not see that Margaret trembled at the mention of his father. He +never knew that she was many times pining to lay her head upon his +breast and tell him of me. Yet I cannot but believe that she always +shook when Adam Dishart was spoken of between them. I cannot think +that the long-cherishing of the secret which was hers and mine kept +her face steady when that horror suddenly confronted her as now. Gavin +would have suspected much had he ever suspected anything. + +"I know," Margaret said, courageously, "that you would be better +married; but when it comes to selecting the woman I grow fearful. O +Gavin!" she said, earnestly, "it is an awful thing to marry the wrong +man!" + +Here in a moment had she revealed much, though far from all, and there +must have been many such moments between them. But Gavin was thinking +of his own affairs. + +"You mean the wrong woman, don't you, mother?" he said, and she +hastened to agree. But it was the wrong man she meant. + +"The difficulty, I suppose, is to hit upon the right one?" Gavin said, +blithely. + +"To know which is the right one in time," answered Margaret, solemnly. +"But I am saying nothing against the young ladies of Thrums, Gavin. +Though I have scarcely seen them, I know there are good women among +them. Jean says----" + +"I believe, mother," Gavin interposed, reproachfully, "that you have +been questioning Jean about them?" + +"Just because I was afraid--I mean because I fancied--you might be +taking a liking to one of them." + +"And what is Jean's verdict?" + +"She says every one of them would jump at you, like a bird at a +berry." + +"But the berry cannot be divided. How would Miss Pennycuick please +you, mother?" + +"Gavin!" cried Margaret, in consternation, "you don't mean to----But +you are laughing at me again." + +"Then there is the banker's daughter?" + +"I can't thole her." + +"Why, I question if you ever set eyes on her, mother." + +"Perhaps not, Gavin; but I have suspected her ever since she offered +to become one of your tract distributors." + +"The doctor," said Gavin, not ill-pleased, "was saying that either of +these ladies would suit me." + +"What business has he," asked Margaret, vindictively, "to put such +thoughts into your head?" + +"But he only did as you are doing. Mother, I see you will never be +satisfied without selecting the woman for me yourself." + +"Ay, Gavin," said Margaret, earnestly; "and I question if I should be +satisfied even then. But I am sure I should be a better guide to you +than Dr. McQueen is." + +"I am convinced of that. But I wonder what sort of woman would content +you?" + +"Whoever pleased you, Gavin, would content me," Margaret ventured to +maintain. "You would only take to a clever woman." + +"She must be nearly as clever as you, mother." + +"Hoots, Gavin," said Margaret, smiling, "I'm not to be caught with +chaff. I am a stupid, ignorant woman." + +"Then I must look out for a stupid, ignorant woman, for that seems to +be the kind I like," answered Gavin, of whom I may confess here +something that has to be told sooner or later. It is this: he never +realised that Babbie was a great deal cleverer than himself. Forgive +him, you who read, if you have any tolerance for the creature, man. + +"She will be terribly learned in languages," pursued Margaret, "so +that she may follow you in your studies, as I have never been able to +do." + +"Your face has helped me more than Hebrew, mother," replied Gavin. "I +will give her no marks for languages." + +"At any rate," Margaret insisted, "she must be a grand housekeeper, +and very thrifty." + +"As for that," Gavin said, faltering a little, "one can't expect it of +a mere girl." + +"I should expect it," maintained his mother. + +"No, no; but she would have you," said Gavin, happily, "to teach her +housekeeping." + +"It would be a pleasant occupation to me, that," Margaret admitted. +"And she would soon learn: she would be so proud of her position as +mistress of a manse." + +"Perhaps," Gavin said, doubtfully. He had no doubt on the subject in +his college days. + +"And we can take for granted," continued his mother, "that she is a +lassie of fine character." + +"Of course," said Gavin, holding his head high, as if he thought the +doctor might be watching him. + +"I have thought," Margaret went on, "that there was a great deal of +wisdom in what you said at that last marriage in the manse, the one +where, you remember, the best man and the bridesmaid joined hands +instead of the bride and bridegroom." + +"What did I say?" asked the little minister, with misgivings. + +"That there was great danger when people married out of their own rank +of life." + +"Oh--ah--well, of course, that would depend on circumstances." + +"They were wise words, Gavin. There was the sermon, too, that you +preached a month or two ago against marrying into other denominations. +Jean told me that it greatly impressed the congregation. It is a sad +sight, as you said, to see an Auld Licht lassie changing her faith +because her man belongs to the U. P.'s." + +"Did I say that?" + +"You did, and it so struck Jean that she told me she would rather be +an old maid for life, 'the which,' she said, 'is a dismal prospect,' +than marry out of the Auld Licht kirk." + +"Perhaps that was a rather narrow view I took, mother. After all, the +fitting thing is that the wife should go with her husband; especially +if it is he that is the Auld Licht." + +"I don't hold with narrowness myself, Gavin," Margaret said, with an +effort, "and admit that there are many respectable persons in the +other denominations. But though a weaver might take a wife from +another kirk without much scandal, an Auld Licht minister's madam must +be Auld Licht born and bred. The congregation would expect no less. I +doubt if they would be sure of her if she came from some other Auld +Licht kirk. 'Deed, though she came from our own kirk, I'm thinking the +session would want to catechise her. Ay, and if all you tell me of +Lang Tammas be true (for, as you know, I never spoke to him), I +warrant he would catechise the session." + +"I would brook no interference from my session," said Gavin, knitting +his brows, "and I do not consider it necessary that a minister's wife +should have been brought up in his denomination. Of course she would +join it. We must make allowance, mother, for the thousands of young +women who live in places where there is no Auld Licht kirk." + +"You can pity them, Gavin," said Margaret, "without marrying them. A +minister has his congregation to think of." + +"So the doctor says," interposed her son. + +"Then it was just like his presumption!" cried Margaret. "A minister +should marry to please himself." + +"Decidedly he should," Gavin agreed, eagerly, "and the bounden duty of +the congregation is to respect and honour his choice. If they forget +that duty, his is to remind them of it." + +"Ah, well, Gavin," said Margaret, confidently, "your congregation are +so fond of you that your choice would doubtless be theirs. Jean tells +me that even Lang Tammas, though he is so obstinate, has a love for +you passing the love of woman. These were her words. Jean is more +sentimental than you might think." + +"I wish he would show his love," said Gavin, "by contradicting me less +frequently." + +"You have Rob Dow to weigh against him." + +"No; I cannot make out what has come over Rob lately. He is drinking +heavily again, and avoiding me. The lightning is becoming very +vivid." + +"Yes, and I hear no thunder. There is another thing, Gavin. I am one +of those that like to sit at home, but if you had a wife she would +visit the congregation. A truly religious wife would be a great help +to you." + +"Religious," Gavin repeated slowly. "Yes, but some people are +religious without speaking of it. If a woman is good she is religious. +A good woman who has been, let us say, foolishly brought up, only +needs to be shown the right way to tread it. Mother, I question if any +man, minister or layman, ever yet fell in love because the woman was +thrifty, or clever, or went to church twice on Sabbath." + +"I believe that is true," Margaret said, "and I would not have it +otherwise. But it is an awful thing, Gavin, as you said from the +pulpit two weeks ago, to worship only at a beautiful face." + +"You think too much about what I say in the pulpit, mother," Gavin +said, with a sigh, "though of course a man who fell in love merely +with a face would be a contemptible creature. Yet I see that women do +not understand how beauty affects a man." + +"Yes, yes, my boy--oh, indeed, they do," said Margaret, who on some +matters knew far more than her son. + +Twelve o'clock struck, and she rose to go to bed, alarmed lest she +should not waken early in the morning. "But I am afraid I shan't +sleep," she said, "if that lightning continues." + +"It is harmless," Gavin answered, going to the window. He started back +next moment, and crying, "Don't look out, mother," hastily pulled down +the blind. + +"Why, Gavin," Margaret said in fear, "you look as if it had struck +you." + +"Oh, no," Gavin answered, with a forced laugh, and he lit her lamp for +her. + +But it had struck him, though it was not lightning. It was the +flashing of a lantern against the window to attract his attention, and +the holder of the lantern was Babbie. + +"Good-night, mother." + +"Good-night, Gavin. Don't sit up any later." + + + + +Chapter Twenty-Two. + +LOVERS. + + +Only something terrible, Gavin thought, could have brought Babbie to +him at such an hour; yet when he left his mother's room it was to +stand motionless on the stair, waiting for a silence in the manse that +would not come. A house is never still in darkness to those who listen +intently; there is a whispering in distant chambers, an unearthly hand +presses the snib of the window, the latch rises. Ghosts were created +when the first man woke in the night. + +Now Margaret slept. Two hours earlier, Jean, sitting on the +salt-bucket, had read the chapter with which she always sent herself +to bed. In honour of the little minister she had begun her Bible +afresh when he came to Thrums, and was progressing through it, a +chapter at night, sighing, perhaps, on washing days at a long chapter, +such as Exodus twelfth, but never making two of it. The kitchen +wag-at-the-wall clock was telling every room in the house that she had +neglected to shut her door. As Gavin felt his way down the dark stair, +awakening it into protest at every step, he had a glimpse of the +pendulum's shadow running back and forward on the hearth; he started +back from another shadow on the lobby wall, and then seeing it start +too, knew it for his own. He opened the door and passed out +unobserved; it was as if the sounds and shadows that filled the manse +were too occupied with their game to mind an interloper. + +"Is that you?" he said to a bush, for the garden was in semi-darkness. +Then the lantern's flash met him, and he saw the Egyptian in the +summer-seat. + +"At last!" she said, reproachfully. "Evidently a lantern is a poor +door-bell." + +"What is it?" Gavin asked, in suppressed excitement, for the least he +expected to hear was that she was again being pursued for her share in +the riot. The tremor in his voice surprised her into silence, and he +thought she faltered because what she had to tell him was so woeful. +So, in the darkness of the summer-seat, he kissed her, and she might +have known that with that kiss the little minister was hers forever. + +Now Babbie had been kissed before, but never thus, and she turned from +Gavin, and would have liked to be alone, for she had begun to know +what love was, and the flash that revealed it to her laid bare her own +shame, so that her impulse was to hide herself from her lover. But of +all this Gavin was unconscious, and he repeated his question. The +lantern was swaying in her hand, and when she turned fearfully to him +its light fell on his face, and she saw how alarmed he was. + +"I am going away back to Nanny's," she said suddenly, and rose cowed, +but he took her hand and held her. + +"Babbie," he said, huskily, "tell me what has happened to bring you +here at this hour." + +She sought to pull her hand from him, but could not. + +"How you are trembling!" he whispered. "Babbie," he cried, "something +terrible has happened to you, but do not fear. Tell me what it is, and +then--then I will take you to my mother: yes, I will take you now." + +The Egyptian would have given all she had in the world to be able to +fly from him then, that he might never know her as she was, but it +could not be, and so she spoke out remorselessly. If her voice had +become hard, it was a new-born scorn of herself that made it so. + +"You are needlessly alarmed," she said; "I am not at all the kind of +person who deserves sympathy or expects it. There is nothing wrong. I +am staying with Nanny over-night, and only came to Thrums to amuse +myself. I chased your policeman down the Roods with my lantern, and +then came here to amuse myself with you. That is all." + +"It was nothing but a love of mischief that brought you here?" Gavin +asked, sternly, after an unpleasant pause. + +"Nothing," the Egyptian answered, recklessly. + +"I could not have believed this of you," the minister said; "I am +ashamed of you." + +"I thought," Babbie retorted, trying to speak lightly until she could +get away from him, "that you would be glad to see me. Your last words +in Caddam seemed to justify that idea." + +"I am very sorry to see you," he answered, reproachfully. + +"Then I will go away at once," she said, stepping out of the +summer-seat. + +"Yes," he replied, "you must go at once." + +"Then I won't," she said, turning back defiantly. "I know what you are +to say: that the Thrums people would be shocked if they knew I was +here; as if I cared what the Thrums people think of me." + +"I care what they think of you," Gavin said, as if that were decisive, +"and I tell you I will not allow you to repeat this freak." + +"You 'will not allow me,'" echoed Babbie, almost enjoying herself, +despite her sudden loss of self-respect. + +"I will not," Gavin said, resolutely. "Henceforth you must do as I +think fit." + +"Since when have you taken command of me?" demanded Babbie. + +"Since a minute ago," Gavin replied, "when you let me kiss you." + +"Let you!" exclaimed Babbie, now justly incensed. "You did it +yourself. I was very angry." + +"No, you were not." + +"I am not allowed to say that even?" asked the Egyptian. "Tell me +something I may say, then, and I will repeat it after you." + +"I have something to say to you," Gavin told her, after a moment's +reflection; "yes, and there is something I should like to hear you +repeat after me, but not to-night." + +"I don't want to hear what it is," Babbie said, quickly, but she knew +what it was, and even then, despite the new pain at her heart, her +bosom swelled with pride because this man still loved her. Now she +wanted to run away with his love for her before he could take it from +her, and then realising that this parting must be forever, a great +desire filled her to hear him put that kiss into words, and she said, +faltering: + +"You can tell me what it is if you like." + +"Not to-night," said Gavin. + +"To-night, if at all," the gypsy almost entreated. + +"To-morrow, at Nanny's," answered Gavin, decisively: and this time he +remembered without dismay that the morrow was the Sabbath. + +In the fairy tale the beast suddenly drops his skin and is a prince, +and I believed it seemed to Babbie that some such change had come over +this man, her plaything. + +"Your lantern is shining on my mother's window," were the words that +woke her from this discovery, and then she found herself yielding the +lantern to him. She became conscious vaguely that a corresponding +change was taking place in herself. + +"You spoke of taking me to your mother," she said, bitterly. + +"Yes," he answered at once, "to-morrow"; but she shook her head, +knowing that to-morrow he would be wiser. + +"Give me the lantern," she said, in a low voice, "I am going back to +Nanny's now." + +"Yes," he said, "we must set out now, but I can carry the lantern." + +"You are not coming with me!" she exclaimed, shaking herself free of +his hand. + +"I am coming," he replied, calmly, though he was not calm. "Take my +arm, Babbie." + +She made a last effort to free herself from bondage, crying +passionately, "I will not let you come." + +"When I say I am coming," Gavin answered between his teeth, "I mean +that I am coming, and so let that be an end of this folly. Take my +arm." + +"I think I hate you," she said, retreating from him. + +"Take my arm," he repeated, and, though her breast was rising +rebelliously, she did as he ordered, and so he escorted her from the +garden. At the foot of the field she stopped, and thought to frighten +him by saying, "What would the people say if they saw you with me +now?" + +"It does not much matter what they would say," he answered, still +keeping his teeth together as if doubtful of their courage. "As for +what they would do, that is certain; they would put me out of my +church." + +"And it is dear to you?" + +"Dearer than life." + +"You told me long ago that your mother's heart would break if----" + +"Yes, I am sure it would." + +They had begun to climb the fields, but she stopped him with a jerk. + +"Go back, Mr. Dishart," she implored, clutching his arm with both +hands. "You make me very unhappy for no purpose. Oh, why should you +risk so much for me?" + +"I cannot have you wandering here alone at midnight," Gavin answered, +gently. + +"That is nothing to me," she said, eagerly, but no longer resenting +his air of proprietorship. + +"You will never do it again if I can prevent it." + +"But you cannot," she said, sadly. "Oh, yes, you can, Mr. Dishart. If +you will turn back now I shall promise never to do anything again +without first asking myself whether it would seem right to you. I know +I acted very wrongly to-night." + +"Only thoughtlessly," he said. + +"Then have pity on me," she besought him, "and go back. If I have only +been thoughtless, how can you punish me thus? Mr. Dishart," she +entreated, her voice breaking, "if you were to suffer for this folly +of mine, do you think I could live?" + +"We are in God's hands, dear," he answered, firmly, and he again drew +her arm to him. So they climbed the first field, and were almost at +the hill before either spoke again. + +"Stop," Babbie whispered, crouching as she spoke; "I see some one +crossing the hill." + +"I have seen him for some time," Gavin answered, quietly; "but I am +doing no wrong, and I will not hide." + +The Egyptian had to walk on with him, and I suppose she did not think +the less of him for that. Yet she said, warningly-- + +"If he sees you, all Thrums will be in an uproar before morning." + +"I cannot help that," Gavin replied. "It is the will of God." + +"To ruin you for my sins?" + +"If He thinks fit." + +The figure drew nearer, and with every step Babbie's distress +doubled. + +"We are walking straight to him," she whispered. "I implore you to +wait here until he passes, if not for your own sake, for your +mother's." + +At that he wavered, and she heard his teeth sliding against each +other, as if he could no longer clench them. + +"But, no," he said moving on again, "I will not be a skulker from any +man. If it be God's wish that I should suffer for this, I must +suffer." + +"Oh, why," cried Babbie, beating her hands together in grief, "should +you suffer for me?" + +"You are mine," Gavin answered. Babbie gasped. "And if you act +foolishly," he continued, "it is right that I should bear the brunt of +it. No, I will not let you go on alone; you are not fit to be alone. +You need some one to watch over you and care for you and love you, +and, if need be, to suffer with you." + +"Turn back, dear, before he sees us." + +"He has seen us." + +Yes, I had seen them, for the figure on the hill was no other than the +dominie of Glen Quharity. The park gate clicked as it swung to, and I +looked up and saw Gavin and the Egyptian. My eyes should have found +them sooner, but it was to gaze upon Margaret's home, while no one saw +me, that I had trudged into Thrums so late, and by that time, I +suppose, my eyes were of little service for seeing through. Yet, when +I knew that of these two people suddenly beside me on the hill one was +the little minister and the other a strange woman, I fell back from +their side with dread before I could step forward and cry "Gavin!" + +"I am Mr. Dishart," he answered, with a composure that would not have +served him for another sentence. He was more excited than I, for the +"Gavin" fell harmlessly on him, while I had no sooner uttered it than +there rushed through me the shame of being false to Margaret. It was +the only time in my life that I forgot her in him, though he has ever +stood next to her in my regard. + +I looked from Gavin to the gypsy woman, and again from her to him, and +she began to tell a lie in his interest. But she got no farther than +"I met Mr. Dishart accid----" when she stopped, ashamed. It was +reverence for Gavin that checked the lie. Not every man has had such a +compliment paid him. + +"It is natural," Gavin said, slowly, "that you, sir, should wonder why +I am here with this woman at such an hour, and you may know me so +little as to think ill of me for it." + +I did not answer, and he misunderstood my silence. + +"No," he continued, in a harder voice, as if I had asked him a +question, "I will explain nothing to you. You are not my judge. If you +would do me harm, sir, you have it in your power." + +It was with these cruel words that Gavin addressed me. He did not know +how cruel they were. The Egyptian, I think, must have seen that his +suspicions hurt me, for she said, softly, with a look of appeal in her +eyes-- + +"You are the schoolmaster in Glen Quharity? Then you will perhaps save +Mr. Dishart the trouble of coming farther by showing me the way to old +Nanny Webster's house at Windyghoul?" + +"I have to pass the house at any rate," I answered eagerly, and she +came quickly to my side. + +I knew, though in the darkness I could see but vaguely, that Gavin was +holding his head high and waiting for me to say my worst. I had not +told him that I dared think no evil of him, and he still suspected me. +Now I would not trust myself to speak lest I should betray Margaret, +and yet I wanted him to know that base doubts about him could never +find a shelter in me. I am a timid man who long ago lost the glory of +my life by it, and I was again timid when I sought to let Gavin see +that my faith in him was unshaken. I lifted my bonnet to the gypsy, +and asked her to take my arm. It was done clumsily, I cannot doubt, +but he read my meaning and held out his hand to me. I had not touched +it since he was three years old, and I trembled too much to give it +the grasp I owed it. He and I parted without a word, but to the +Egyptian he said, "To-morrow, dear, I will see you at Nanny's," and he +was to kiss her, but I pulled her a step farther from him, and she put +her hands over her face, crying, "No, no!" + +If I asked her some questions between the hill and Windyghoul you must +not blame me, for this was my affair as well as theirs. She did not +answer me; I know now that she did not hear me. But at the mud house +she looked abruptly into my face, and said-- + +"You love him, too!" + +I trudged to the school house with these words for company, and it was +less her discovery than her confession that tortured me. How much I +slept that night you may guess. + + + + +Chapter Twenty-Three. + +CONTAINS A BIRTH, WHICH IS SUFFICIENT FOR ONE CHAPTER. + + +"The kirk bell will soon be ringing," Nanny said on the following +morning, as she placed herself carefully on a stool, one hand holding +her Bible and the other wandering complacently over her aged merino +gown. "Ay, lassie, though you're only an Egyptian I would hae ta'en +you wi' me to hear Mr. Duthie, but it's speiring ower muckle o' a +woman to expect her to gang to the kirk in her ilka day claethes." + +The Babbie of yesterday would have laughed at this, but the new Babbie +sighed. + +"I wonder you don't go to Mr. Dishart's church now, Nanny," she said, +gently. "I am sure you prefer him." + +"Babbie, Babbie," exclaimed Nanny, with spirit, "may I never be so far +left to mysel' as to change my kirk just because I like another +minister better! It's easy seen, lassie, that you ken little o' +religious questions." + +"Very little," Babbie admitted, sadly. + +"But dinna be so waeful about it," the old woman continued, kindly, +"for that's no nane like you. Ay, and if you see muckle mair o' Mr. +Dishart he'll soon cure your ignorance." + +"I shall not see much more of him," Babbie answered, with averted +head. + +"The like o' you couldna expect it," Nanny said, simply, whereupon +Babbie went to the window. "I had better be stepping," Nanny said, +rising, "for I am aye late unless I'm on the hill by the time the +bell begins. Ay, Babbie, I'm doubting my merino's no sair in the +fashion?" + +She looked down at her dress half despondently, and yet with some +pride. + +"It was fowerpence the yard, and no less," she went on, fondling the +worn merino, "when we bocht it at Sam'l Curr's. Ay, but it has been +turned sax times since syne." + +She sighed, and Babbie came to her and put her arms round her, saying, +"Nanny, you are a dear." + +"I'm a gey auld-farrant-looking dear, I doubt," said Nanny, ruefully. + +"Now, Nanny," rejoined Babbie, "you are just wanting me to flatter +you. You know the merino looks very nice." + +"It's a guid merino yet," admitted the old woman, "but, oh, Babbie, +what does the material matter if the cut isna fashionable? It's fine, +isn't it, to be in the fashion?" + +She spoke so wistfully that, instead of smiling, Babbie kissed her. + +"I am afraid to lay hand on the merino, Nanny, but give me off your +bonnet and I'll make it ten years younger in as many minutes." + +"Could you?" asked Nanny, eagerly, unloosening her bonnet-strings. +"Mercy on me!" she had to add; "to think about altering bonnets on the +Sabbath-day! Lassie, how could you propose sic a thing?" + +"Forgive me, Nanny," Babbie replied, so meekly that the old woman +looked at her curiously. + +[Illustration: "IT'S A GUID MERINO YET."] + +"I dinna understand what has come ower you," she said. "There's an +unca difference in you since last nicht. I used to think you were mair +like a bird than a lassie, but you've lost a' your daft capers o' +singing and lauching, and I take ill wi't. Twa or three times I've +catched you greeting. Babbie, what has come ower you?" + +"Nothing, Nanny. I think I hear the bell." + +Down in Thrums two kirk-officers had let their bells loose, waking +echoes in Windyghoul as one dog in country parts sets all the others +barking, but Nanny did not hurry off to church. Such a surprising +notion had filled her head suddenly that she even forgot to hold her +dress off the floor. + +"Babbie," she cried, in consternation, "dinna tell me you've gotten +ower fond o' Mr. Dishart." + +"The like of me, Nanny!" the gypsy answered, with affected raillery, +but there was a tear in her eye. + +"It would be a wild, presumptious thing," Nanny said, "and him a grand +minister, but----" + +Babbie tried to look her in the face, but failed, and then all at once +there came back to Nanny the days when she and her lover wandered the +hill together. + +"Ah, my dawtie," she cried, so tenderly, "what does it matter wha he +is when you canna help it!" + +Two frail arms went round the Egyptian, and Babbie rested her head on +the old woman's breast. But do you think it could have happened had +not Nanny loved a weaver two-score years before? + +And now Nanny has set off for church and Babbie is alone in the mud +house. Some will pity her not at all, this girl who was a dozen women +in the hour, and all made of impulses that would scarce stand still to +be photographed. To attempt to picture her at any time until now would +have been like chasing a spirit that changes to something else as your +arms clasp it; yet she has always seemed a pathetic little figure to +me. If I understand Babbie at all, it is, I think, because I loved +Margaret, the only woman I have ever known well, and one whose nature +was not, like the Egyptian's, complex, but most simple, as if God had +told her only to be good. Throughout my life since she came into it +she has been to me a glass in which many things are revealed that I +could not have learned save through her, and something of all +womankind, even of bewildering Babbie, I seem to know because I knew +Margaret. + +No woman is so bad but we may rejoice when her heart thrills to +love, for then God has her by the hand. There is no love but this. +She may dream of what love is, but it is only of a sudden that she +knows. Babbie, who was without a guide from her baby days, had +dreamed but little of it, hearing its name given to another thing. +She had been born wild and known no home; no one had touched her +heart except to strike it, she had been educated, but never tamed; +her life had been thrown strangely among those who were great in the +world's possessions, but she was not of them. Her soul was in such +darkness that she had never seen it; she would have danced away +cynically from the belief that there is such a thing, and now all at +once she had passed from disbelief to knowledge. Is not love God's +doing? To Gavin He had given something of Himself, and the moment she +saw it the flash lit her own soul. + +It was but little of his Master that was in Gavin, but far smaller +things have changed the current of human lives; the spider's thread +that strikes our brow on a country road may do that. Yet this I will +say, though I have no wish to cast the little minister on my pages +larger than he was, that he had some heroic hours in Thrums, of which +one was when Babbie learned to love him. Until the moment when he +kissed her she had only conceived him a quaint fellow whose life was a +string of Sundays, but behold what she saw in him now. Evidently to +his noble mind her mystery was only some misfortune, not of her +making, and his was to be the part of leading her away from it into +the happiness of the open life. He did not doubt her, for he loved, +and to doubt is to dip love in the mire. She had been given to him by +God, and he was so rich in her possession that the responsibility +attached to the gift was not grievous. She was his, and no mortal man +could part them. Those who looked askance at her were looking askance +at him; in so far as she was wayward and wild, he was those things; so +long as she remained strange to religion, the blame lay on him. + +All this Babbie read in the Gavin of the past night, and to her it was +the book of love. What things she had known, said and done in that +holy name! How shamefully have we all besmirched it! She had only +known it as the most selfish of the passions, a brittle image that men +consulted because it could only answer in the words they gave it to +say. But here was a man to whom love was something better than his own +desires leering on a pedestal. Such love as Babbie had seen hitherto +made strong men weak, but this was a love that made a weak man strong. +All her life, strength had been her idol, and the weakness that bent +to her cajolery her scorn. But only now was it revealed to her that +strength, instead of being the lusty child of passions, grows by +grappling with and throwing them. + +So Babbie loved the little minister for the best that she had ever +seen in man. I shall be told that she thought far more of him than he +deserved, forgetting the mean in the worthy: but who that has had a +glimpse of heaven will care to let his mind dwell henceforth on earth? +Love, it is said, is blind, but love is not blind. It is an extra eye, +which shows us what is most worthy of regard. To see the best is to +see most clearly, and it is the lover's privilege. + +Down in the Auld Licht kirk that forenoon Gavin preached a sermon in +praise of Woman, and up in the mudhouse in Windyghoul Babbie sat +alone. But it was the Sabbath day to her: the first Sabbath in her +life. Her discovery had frozen her mind for a time, so that she could +only stare at it with eyes that would not shut; but that had been in +the night. Already her love seemed a thing of years, for it was as old +as herself, as old as the new Babbie. It was such a dear delight that +she clasped it to her, and exulted over it because it was hers, and +then she cried over it because she must give it up. + +For Babbie must only look at this love and then turn from it. My heart +aches for the little Egyptian, but the Promised Land would have +remained invisible to her had she not realized that it was only for +others. That was the condition of her seeing. + + + + +Chapter Twenty-Four. + +THE NEW WORLD, AND THE WOMAN WHO MAY NOT DWELL THEREIN. + + +Up here in the glen school-house after my pupils have straggled home, +there comes to me at times, and so sudden that it may be while I am +infusing my tea, a hot desire to write great books. Perhaps an hour +afterwards I rise, beaten, from my desk, flinging all I have written +into the fire (yet rescuing some of it on second thought), and curse +myself as an ingle-nook man, for I see that one can only paint what he +himself has felt, and in my passion I wish to have all the vices, even +to being an impious man, that I may describe them better. For this may +I be pardoned. It comes to nothing in the end, save that my tea is +brackish. + +Yet though my solitary life in the glen is cheating me of many +experiences, more helpful to a writer than to a Christian, it has not +been so tame but that I can understand why Babbie cried when she went +into Nanny's garden and saw the new world. Let no one who loves be +called altogether unhappy. Even love unreturned has its rainbow, and +Babbie knew that Gavin loved her. Yet she stood in woe among the stiff +berry bushes, as one who stretches forth her hands to Love and sees +him looking for her, and knows she must shrink from the arms she would +lie in, and only call to him in a voice he cannot hear. This is not a +love that is always bitter. It grows sweet with age. But could that +dry the tears of the little Egyptian, who had only been a woman for a +day? + +Much was still dark to her. Of one obstacle that must keep her and +Gavin ever apart she knew, and he did not; but had it been removed she +would have given herself to him humbly, not in her own longing, but +because he wanted her. "Behold what I am," she could have said to him +then, and left the rest to him, believing that her unworthiness would +not drag him down, it would lose itself so readily in his strength. +That Thrums could rise against such a man if he defied it, she did not +believe; but she was to learn the truth presently from a child. + +To most of us, I suppose, has come some shock that was to make us +different men from that hour, and yet, how many days elapsed before +something of the man we had been leapt up in us? Babbie thought she +had buried her old impulsiveness, and then remembering that from the +top of the field she might see Gavin returning from church, she +hastened to the hill to look upon him from a distance. Before she +reached the gate where I had met her and him, however, she stopped, +distressed at her selfishness, and asked bitterly, "Why am I so +different from other women; why should what is so easy to them be so +hard to me?" + +"Gavin, my beloved!" the Egyptian cried in her agony, and the wind +caught her words and flung them in the air, making sport of her. + +She wandered westward over the bleak hill, and by-and-by came to a +great slab called the Standing Stone, on which children often sit and +muse until they see gay ladies riding by on palfreys--a kind of +horse--and knights in glittering armour, and goblins, and fiery +dragons, and other wonders now extinct, of which bare-legged laddies +dream, as well as boys in socks. The Standing Stone is in the dyke +that separates the hill from a fir wood, and it is the fairy-book of +Thrums. If you would be a knight yourself, you must sit on it and +whisper to it your desire. + +Babbie came to the Standing Stone, and there was a little boy astride +it. His hair stood up through holes in his bonnet, and he was very +ragged and miserable. + +"Why are you crying, little boy?" Babbie asked him, gently; but he did +not look up, and the tongue was strange to him. + +"How are you greeting so sair?" she asked. + +"I'm no greeting very sair," he answered, turning his head from her +that a woman might not see his tears. "I'm no greeting so sair but +what I grat sairer when my mither died." + +"When did she die?" Babbie inquired. + +"Lang syne," he answered, still with averted face. + +"What is your name?" + +"Micah is my name. Rob Dow's my father." + +"And have you no brothers nor sisters?" asked Babbie, with a +fellow-feeling for him. + +"No, juist my father," he said. + +"You should be the better laddie to him then. Did your mither no tell +you to be that afore she died?" + +"Ay," he answered, "she telled me ay to hide the bottle frae him when +I could get haed o't. She took me into the bed to make me promise +that, and syne she died." + +"Does your father drina?" + +"He hauds mair than ony other man in Thrums," Micah replied, almost +proudly. + +"And he strikes you?" Babbie asked, compassionately. + +"That's a lie," retorted the boy, fiercely. "Leastwise, he doesna +strike me except when he's mortal, and syne I can jouk him." + +"What are you doing there?" + +"I'm wishing. It's a wishing stane." + +"You are wishing your father wouldna drink." + +"No, I'm no," answered Micah. "There was a lang time he didna drink, +but the woman has sent him to it again. It's about her I'm wishing. +I'm wishing she was in hell." + +"What woman is it?" asked Babbie, shuddering. + +"I dinna ken," Micah said, "but she's an ill ane." + +"Did you never see her at your father's house?" + +"Na; if he could get grip o' her he would break her ower his knee. I +hearken to him saying that, when he's wild. He says she should be +burned for a witch." + +"But if he hates her," asked Babbie, "how can she have sic power ower +him?" + +"It's no him that she has haud o'," replied Micah, still looking away +from her. + +"Wha is it then?" + +"It's Mr. Dishart." + +Babbie was struck as if by an arrow from the wood. It was so +unexpected that she gave a cry, and then for the first time Micah +looked at her. + +"How should that send your father to the drink?" she asked, with an +effort. + +"Because my father's michty fond o' him," answered Micah, staring +strangely at her; "and when the folk ken about the woman, they'll +stane the minister out o' Thrums." + +The wood faded for a moment from the Egyptian's sight. When it came +back, the boy had slid off the Standing Stone and was stealing away. + +"Why do you run frae me?" Babbie asked, pathetically. + +"I'm fleid at you," he gasped, coming to a standstill at a safe +distance: "you're the woman!" + +Babbie cowered before her little judge, and he drew nearer her +slowly. + +"What makes you think that?" she said. + +It was a curious time for Babbie's beauty to be paid its most princely +compliment. + +[Illustration: "I'M WISHING SHE WAS IN HELL."] + +"Because you're so bonny," Micah whispered across the dyke. Her tears +gave him courage. "You micht gang awa," he entreated. "If you kent +what a differ Mr. Dishart made in my father till you came, you +would maybe gang awa. When he's roaring fou I have to sleep in the +wood, and it's awfu' cauld. I'm doubting he'll kill me, woman, if you +dinna gang awa." + +Poor Babbie put her hand to her heart, but the innocent lad continued +mercilessly-- + +"If ony shame comes to the minister, his auld mither'll die. How have +you sic an ill will at the minister?" + +Babbie held up her hands like a supplicant. + +"I'll gie you my rabbit," Micah said, "if you'll gang awa. I've juist +the ane." She shook her head, and, misunderstanding her, he cried, +with his knuckles in his eye, "I'll gie you them baith, though I'm +michty sweer to part wi' Spotty." + +Then at last Babbie found her voice. + +"Keep your rabbits, laddie," she said, "and greet no more. I'm gaen +awa." + +"And you'll never come back no more a' your life?" pleaded Micah. + +"Never no more a' my life," repeated Babbie. + +"And ye'll leave the minister alane for ever and ever?" + +"For ever and ever." + +Micah rubbed his face dry, and said, "Will you let me stand on the +Standing Stane and watch you gaen awa for ever and ever?" + +At that a sob broke from Babbie's heart, and looking at her doubtfully +Micah said-- + +"Maybe you're gey ill for what you've done?" + +"Ay," Babbie answered, "I'm gey ill for what I've done." + +A minute passed, and in her anguish she did not know that still she +was standing at the dyke. Micah's voice roused her: + +"You said you would gang awa, and you're no gaen." + +Then Babbie went away. The boy watched her across the hill. He climbed +the Standing Stone and gazed after her until she was but a coloured +ribbon among the broom. When she disappeared into Windyghoul he ran +home joyfully, and told his father what a good day's work he had done. +Rob struck him for a fool for taking a gypsy's word, and warned him +against speaking of the woman in Thrums. + +[Illustration: "ROB STRUCK HIM FOR A FOOL FOR TAKING A GYPSY'S WORD."] + +But though Dow believed that Gavin continued to meet the Egyptian +secretly, he was wrong. A sum of money for Nanny was sent to the +minister, but he could guess only from whom it came. In vain did he +search for Babbie. Some months passed and he gave up the search, +persuaded that he should see her no more. He went about his duties +with a drawn face that made many folk uneasy when it was stern, and +pained them when it tried to smile. But to Margaret, though the effort +was terrible, he was as he had ever been, and so no thought of a woman +crossed her loving breast. + + + + +Chapter Twenty-Five. + +BEGINNING OF THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. + + +I can tell still how the whole of the glen was engaged about the hour +of noon on the fourth of August month; a day to be among the last +forgotten by any of us, though it began as quietly as a roaring March. +At the Spittal, between which and Thrums this is a halfway house, were +gathered two hundred men in kilts, and many gentry from the +neighboring glens, to celebrate the earl's marriage, which was to take +place on the morrow, and thither, too, had gone many of my pupils to +gather gossip, at which girls of six are trustier hands than boys of +twelve. Those of us, however, who were neither children nor of gentle +blood, remained at home, the farmers more taken up with the want of +rain, now become a calamity, than with an old man's wedding, and their +womenfolk wringing their hands for rain also, yet finding time to +marvel at the marriage's taking place at the Spittal instead of in +England, of which the ignorant spoke vaguely as an estate of the +bride's. + +For my own part I could talk of the disastrous drought with Waster +Lunny as I walked over his parched fields, but I had not such cause as +he to brood upon it by day and night; and the ins and outs of the +earl's marriage were for discussing at a tea-table, where there were +women to help one to conclusions, rather than for the reflections of a +solitary dominie, who had seen neither bride nor bridegroom. So it +must be confessed that when I might have been regarding the sky +moodily, or at the Spittal, where a free table that day invited all, +I was sitting in the school-house, heeling my left boot, on which I +have always been a little hard. + +I made small speed, not through lack of craft, but because one can no +more drive in tackets properly than take cities unless he gives his +whole mind to it; and half of mine was at the Auld Licht manse. Since +our meeting six months earlier on the hill I had not seen Gavin, but I +had heard much of him, and of a kind to trouble me. + +"I saw nothing queer about Mr. Dishart," was Waster Lunny's frequent +story, "till I hearkened to Elspeth speaking about it to the lasses +(for I'm the last Elspeth would tell onything to, though I'm her man), +and syne I minded I had been noticing it for months. Elspeth says," he +would go on, for he could no more forbear quoting his wife than +complaining of her, "that the minister'll listen to you nowadays wi' +his een glaring at you as if he had a perfectly passionate interest in +what you were telling him (though it may be only about a hen wi' the +croup), and then, after all, he hasna heard a sylib. Ay, I listened to +Elspeth saying that, when she thocht I was at the byre, and yet, would +you believe it, when I says to her after lousing time, 'I've been +noticing of late that the minister loses what a body tells him,' all +she answers is 'Havers.' Tod, but women's provoking." + +"I allow," Birse said, "that on the first Sabbath o' June month, and +again on the third Sabbath, he poured out the Word grandly, but I've +ta'en note this curran Sabbaths that if he's no michty magnificent +he's michty poor. There's something damming up his mind, and when he +gets by it he's a roaring water, but when he doesna he's a despizable +trickle. The folk thinks it's a woman that's getting in his way, but +dinna tell me that about sic a scholar; I tell you he would gang ower +a toon o' women like a loaded cart ower new-laid stanes." + +Wearyworld hobbled after me up the Roods one day, pelting me with +remarks, though I was doing my best to get away from him. "Even Rob +Dow sees there's something come ower the minister," he bawled, "for +Rob's fou ilka Sabbath now. Ay, but this I will say for Mr. Dishart, +that he aye gies me a civil word," I thought I had left the policeman +behind with this, but next minute he roared, "And whatever is the +matter wi' him it has made him kindlier to me than ever." He must have +taken the short cut through Lunan's close, for at the top of the Roods +his voice again made up on me. "Dagone you, for a cruel pack to put +your fingers to your lugs ilka time I open my mouth." + +As for Waster Lunny's daughter Easie, who got her schooling free for +redding up the school-house and breaking my furniture, she would never +have been off the gossip about the minister, for she was her mother in +miniature, with a tongue that ran like a pump after the pans are full, +not for use but for the mere pleasure of spilling. + +On that awful fourth of August I not only had all this confused talk +in my head but reason for jumping my mind between it and the Egyptian +(as if to catch them together unawares), and I was like one who, with +the mechanism of a watch jumbled in his hand, could set it going if he +had the art. + +Of the gypsy I knew nothing save what I had seen that night, yet +what more was there to learn? I was aware that she loved Gavin and +that he loved her. A moment had shown it to me. Now with the Auld +Lichts, I have the smith's acquaintance with his irons, and so I +could not believe that they would suffer their minister to marry a +vagrant. Had it not been for this knowledge, which made me fearful +for Margaret, I would have done nothing to keep these two young people +apart. Some to whom I have said this maintain that the Egyptian +turned my head at our first meeting. Such an argument is not perhaps +worth controverting. I admit that even now I straighten under the +fire of a bright eye, as a pensioner may salute when he sees a +young officer. In the shooting season, should I chance to be leaning +over my dyke while English sportsmen pass (as is usually the case +if I have seen them approaching), I remember nought of them save that +they call me "she," and end their greetings with "whatever" (which +Waster Lunny takes to be a southron mode of speech), but their +ladies dwell pleasantly in my memory, from their engaging faces to +the pretty crumpled thing dangling on their arms, that is a hat or a +basket, I am seldom sure which. The Egyptian's beauty, therefore, +was a gladsome sight to me, and none the less so that I had come +upon it as unexpectedly as some men step into a bog. Had she been +alone when I met her I cannot deny that I would have been content to +look on her face, without caring what was inside it; but she was +with her lover, and that lover was Gavin, and so her face was to me +as little for admiring as this glen in a thunderstorm, when I know +that some fellow-creature is lost on the hills. + +If, however, it was no quick liking for the gypsy that almost tempted +me to leave these two lovers to each other, what was it? It was the +warning of my own life. Adam Dishart had torn my arm from Margaret's, +and I had not recovered the wrench in eighteen years. Rather than act +his part between these two I felt tempted to tell them, "Deplorable as +the result may be, if you who are a minister marry this vagabond, it +will be still more deplorable if you do not." + +But there was Margaret to consider, and at thought of her I cursed the +Egyptian aloud. What could I do to keep Gavin and the woman apart? I +could tell him the secret of his mother's life. Would that be +sufficient? It would if he loved Margaret, as I did not doubt. Pity +for her would make him undergo any torture rather than she should +suffer again. But to divulge our old connection would entail her +discovery of me, and I questioned if even the saving of Gavin could +destroy the bitterness of that. + +I might appeal to the Egyptian. I might tell her even what I shuddered +to tell him. She cared for him, I was sure, well enough to have the +courage to give him up. But where was I to find her? + +Were she and Gavin meeting still? Perhaps the change which had come +over the little minister meant that they had parted. Yet what I had +heard him say to her on the hill warned me not to trust in any such +solution of the trouble. + +Boys play at casting a humming-top into the midst of others on the +ground, and if well aimed it scatters them prettily. I seemed to be +playing such a game with my thoughts, for each new one sent the others +here and there, and so what could I do in the end but fling my tops +aside, and return to the heeling of my boot? + +I was thus engaged when the sudden waking of the glen into life took +me to my window. There is seldom silence up here, for if the wind be +not sweeping the heather, the Quharity, that I may not have heard for +days, seems to have crept nearer to the school-house in the night, and +if both wind and water be out of earshot, there is the crack of a gun, +or Waster Lunny's shepherd is on a stone near at hand whistling, or a +lamb is scrambling through a fence, and kicking foolishly with its +hind legs. These sounds I am unaware of until they stop, when I look +up. Such a stillness was broken now by music. + +From my window I saw a string of people walking rapidly down the glen, +and Waster Lunny crossing his potato-field to meet them. Remembering +that, though I was in my stocking soles, the ground was dry, I +hastened to join the farmer, for I like to miss nothing. I saw a +curious sight. In front of the little procession coming down the glen +road, and so much more impressive than his satellites that they may be +put of mind as merely ploughman and the like following a show, was a +Highlander that I knew to be Lauchlan Campbell, one of the pipers +engaged to lend music to the earl's marriage. He had the name of a +thrawn man when sober, but pretty at the pipes at both times, and he +came marching down the glen blowing gloriously, as if he had the clan +of Campbell at his heels. I know no man who is so capable on occasion +of looking like twenty as a Highland piper, and never have I seen a +face in such a blaze of passion as was Lauchlan Campbell's that day. +His following were keeping out of his reach, jumping back every time +he turned round to shake his fist in the direction of the Spittal. +While this magnificent man was yet some yards from us, I saw Waster +Lunny, who had been in the middle of the road to ask questions, fall +back in fear, and not being a fighting man myself, I jumped the dyke. +Lauchlan gave me a look that sent me farther into the field, and +strutted past, shrieking defiance through his pipes, until I lost him +and his followers in a bend of the road. + +"That's a terrifying spectacle," I heard Waster Lunny say when the +music had become but a distant squeal. "You're bonny at louping dykes, +dominie, when there is a wild bull in front o' you. Na, I canna tell +what has happened, but at the least Lauchlan maun hae dirked the earl. +Thae loons cried out to me as they gaed by that he has been blawing +awa' at that tune till he canna halt. What a wind's in the crittur! +I'm thinking there's a hell in ilka Highlandman." + +"Take care then, Waster Lunny, that you dinna licht it," said an angry +voice that made us jump, though it was only Duncan, the farmer's +shepherd, who spoke. + +"I had forgotten you was a Highlandman yoursel', Duncan," Waster Lunny +said nervously; but Elspeth, who had come to us unnoticed, ordered +the shepherd to return to the hillside, which he did haughtily. + +"How did you no lay haud on that blast o' wind, Lauchlan Campbell," +asked Elspeth of her husband, "and speir at him what had happened at +the Spittal? A quarrel afore a marriage brings ill luck." + +"I'm thinking," said the farmer, "that Rintoul's making his ain ill +luck by marrying on a young leddy." + +"A man's never ower auld to marry," said Elspeth. + +"No, nor a woman," rejoined Waster Lunny, "when she gets the chance. +But, Elspeth, I believe I can guess what has fired that fearsome +piper. Depend upon it, somebody has been speaking disrespectful about +the crittur's ancestors." + +"His ancestors!" exclaimed Elspeth, scornfully. "I'm thinking mine +could hae bocht them at a crown the dozen." + +"Hoots," said the farmer, "you're o' a weaving stock, and dinna +understand about ancestors. Take a stick to a Highland laddie, and +it's no him you hurt, but his ancestors. Likewise it's his ancestors +that stanes you for it. When Duncan stalked awa the now, what think +you he saw? He saw a farmer's wife dauring to order about his +ancestors; and if that's the way wi' a shepherd, what will it be wi' a +piper that has the kilts on him a' day to mind him o' his ancestors +ilka time he looks down?" + +Elspeth retired to discuss the probable disturbance at the Spittal +with her family, giving Waster Lunny the opportunity of saying to me +impressively-- + +"Man, man, has it never crossed you that it's a queer thing the like +o' you and me having no ancestors? Ay, we had them in a manner o' +speaking, no doubt, but they're as completely lost sicht o' as a +flagon lid that's fallen ahint the dresser. Hech, sirs, but they would +need a gey rubbing to get the rust off them now. I've been thinking +that if I was to get my laddies to say their grandfather's name a +curran times ilka day, like the Catechism, and they were to do the +same wi' their bairns, and it was continued in future generations, we +micht raise a fell field o' ancestors in time. Ay, but Elspeth wouldna +hear o't. Nothing angers her mair than to hear me speak o' planting +trees for the benefit o' them that's to be farmers here after me; and +as for ancestors, she would howk them up as quick as I could plant +them. Losh, dominie, is that a boot in your hand?" + +To my mortification I saw that I had run out of the school-house +with the boot on my hand as if it were a glove, and back I went +straightway, blaming myself for a man wanting in dignity. It was +but a minor trouble this, however, even at the time; and to recall +it later in the day was to look back on happiness, for though I did +not know it yet, Lauchlan's playing raised the curtain on the great +act of Gavin's life, and the twenty-four hours had begun, to which +all I have told as yet is no more than the prologue. + + + + +Chapter Twenty-Six. + +SCENE AT THE SPITTAL. + + +Within an hour after I had left him, Waster Lunny walked into the +school-house and handed me his snuff-mull, which I declined politely. +It was with this ceremony that we usually opened our conversations. + +"I've seen the post," he said, "and he tells me there has been a queer +ploy at the Spittal. It's a wonder the marriage hasna been turned into +a burial, and all because o' that Highland stirk, Lauchlan Campbell." + +Waster Lunny was a man who had to retrace his steps in telling a story +if he tried short cuts, and so my custom was to wait patiently while +he delved through the ploughed fields that always lay between him and +his destination. + +"As you ken, Rintoul's so little o' a Scotchman that he's no muckle +better than an Englisher. That maun be the reason he hadna mair sense +than to tramp on a Highlandman's ancestors, as he tried to tramp on +Lauchlan's this day." + +"If Lord Rintoul insulted the piper," I suggested, giving the farmer a +helping hand cautiously, "it would be through inadvertence. Rintoul +only bought the Spittal a year ago, and until then, I daresay, he had +seldom been on our side of the Border." + +This was a foolish interruption, for it set Waster Lunny off in a new +direction. + +"That's what Elspeth says. Says she, 'When the earl has grand estates +in England, what for does he come to a barren place like the Spittal +to be married? It's gey like,' she says, 'as if he wanted the +marriage to be got by quietly; a thing,' says she, 'that no woman can +stand. Furthermore,' Elspeth says, 'how has the marriage been +postponed twice?' We ken what the servants at the Spittal says to +that, namely, that the young lady is no keen to take him, but Elspeth +winna listen to sic arguments. She says either the earl had grown +timid (as mony a man does) when the wedding-day drew near, or else his +sister that keeps his house is mad at the thocht o' losing her place; +but as for the young leddy's being sweer, says Elspeth, 'an earl's an +earl however auld he is, and a lassie's a lassie however young she is, +and weel she kens you're never sure o' a man's no changing his mind +about you till you're tied to him by law, after which it doesna so +muckle matter whether he changes his mind about you or no.' Ay, +there's a quirk in it some gait, dominie; but it's a deep water +Elspeth canna bottom." + +"It is," I agreed; "but you were to tell me what Birse told you of the +disturbance at the Spittal." + +"Ay, weel," he answered, "the post puts the wite o't on her little +leddyship, as they call her, though she winna be a leddyship till the +morn. All I can say is that if the earl was saft enough to do sic a +thing out of fondness for her, it's time he was married on her, so +that he may come to his senses again. That's what I say; but Elspeth +conters me, of course, and says she, 'If the young leddy was so +careless o' insulting other folks' ancestors, it proves she has nane +o' her ain; for them that has china plates themsel's is the maist +careful no to break the china plates of others.'" + +"But what was the insult? Was Lauchlan dismissed?" + +"Na, faags! It was waur than that. Dominie, you're dull in the uptake +compared to Elspeth. I hadna telled her half the story afore she +jaloused the rest. However, to begin again; there's great feasting and +rejoicings gaen on at the Spittal the now, and also a banquet, which +the post says is twa dinners in one. Weel, there's a curran Ogilvys +among the guests, and it was them that egged on her little leddyship +to make the daring proposal to the earl. What was the proposal? It was +no less than that the twa pipers should be ordered to play 'The Bonny +House o' Airlie.' Dominie, I wonder you can tak it so calm when you +ken that's the Ogilvy's sang, and that it's aimed at the clan o' +Campbell." + +"Pooh!" I said. "The Ogilvys and the Campbells used to be mortal +enemies, but the feud has been long forgotten." + +"Ay, I've heard tell," Waster Lunny said sceptically, "that Airlie and +Argyle shakes hands now like Christians; but I'm thinking that's just +afore the Queen. Dinna speak now, for I'm in the thick o't. Her little +leddyship was all hinging in gold and jewels, the which winna be her +ain till the morn; and she leans ower to the earl and whispers to him +to get the pipers to play 'The Bonny House.' He wasna willing, for +says he, 'There's Ogilvys at the table, and ane o' the pipers is a +Campbell, and we'll better let sleeping dogs lie.' However, the +Ogilvys lauched at his caution; and he was so infatuated wi' her +little leddyship that he gae in, and he cried out to the pipers to +strike up 'The Bonny House.'" + +Waster Lunny pulled his chair nearer me and rested his hand on my +knees. + +"Dominie," he said in a voice that fell now and again into a whisper, +"them looking on swears that when Lauchlan Campbell heard these +monstrous orders his face became ugly and black, so that they kent in +a jiffy what he would do. It's said a' body jumped back frae him in a +sudden dread, except poor Angus, the other piper, wha was busy tuning +up for 'The Bonny House.' Weel, Angus had got no farther in the tune +than the first skirl when Lauchlan louped at him, and ripped up the +startled crittur's pipes wi' his dirk. The pipes gae a roar o' agony +like a stuck swine, and fell gasping on the floor. What happened next +was that Lauchlan wi' his dirk handy for onybody that micht try to +stop him, marched once round the table, playing 'The Campbells are +Coming,' and then straucht out o' the Spittal, his chest far afore +him, and his head so weel back that he could see what was going on +ahint. Frae the Spittal to here he never stopped that fearsome tune, +and I'se warrant he's blawing away at it at this moment through the +streets o' Thrums." + +Waster Lunny was not in his usual spirits, or he would have repeated +his story before he left me, for he had usually as much difficulty in +coming to an end as in finding a beginning. The drought was to him as +serious a matter as death in the house, and as little to be forgotten +for a lengthened period. + +"There's to be a prayer-meeting for rain in the Auld Licht kirk the +night," he told me as I escorted him as far as my side of the +Quharity, now almost a dead stream, pitiable to see, "and I'm gaen; +though I'm sweer to leave thae puir cattle o' mine. You should see how +they look at me when I gie them mair o' that rotten grass to eat. It's +eneuch to mak a man greet, for what richt hae I to keep kye when I +canna meat them?" + +Waster Lunny has said to me more than once that the great surprise of +his life was when Elspeth was willing to take him. Many a time, +however, I have seen that in him which might have made any weaver's +daughter proud of such a man, and I saw it again when we came to the +river side. + +"I'm no ane o' thae farmers," he said, truthfully, "that's aye girding +at the weather, and Elspeth and me kens that we hae been dealt wi' +bountifully since we took this farm wi' gey anxious hearts. That +woman, dominie, is eneuch to put a brave face on a coward, and it's +no langer syne than yestreen when I was sitting in the dumps, looking +at the aurora borealis, which I canna but regard as a messenger o' +woe, that she put her hand on my shoulder and she says, 'Waster Lunny, +twenty year syne we began life thegither wi' nothing but the claethes +on our back, and an it please God we can begin it again, for I hae you +and you hae me, and I'm no cast down if you're no.' Dominie, is there +mony sic women in the warld as that?" + +"Many a one," I said. + +"Ay, man, it shamed me, for I hae a kind o' delight in angering +Elspeth, just to see what she'll say. I could hae ta'en her on my knee +at that minute, but the bairns was there, and so it wouldna hae dune. +But I cheered her up, for, after all, the drought canna put us so far +back as we was twenty years syne, unless it's true what my father +said, that the aurora borealis is the devil's rainbow. I saw it sax +times in July month, and it made me shut my een. You was out admiring +it, dominie, but I can never forget that it was seen in the year +twelve just afore the great storm. I was only a laddie then, but I +mind how that awful wind stripped a' the standing corn in the glen in +less time than we've been here at the water's edge. It was called the +deil's besom. My father's hinmost words to me was, 'It's time eneuch +to greet, laddie, when you see the aurora borealis.' I mind he was so +complete ruined in an hour that he had to apply for relief frae the +poor's rates. Think o' that, and him a proud man. He would tak' +nothing till one winter day when we was a' starving, and syne I gaed +wi' him to speir for't, and he telled me to grip his hand ticht, so +that the cauldness o' mine micht gie him courage. They were doling out +the charity in the Town's House, and I had never been in't afore. I +canna look at it now without thinking o' that day when me and my +father gaed up the stair thegither. Mr. Duthie was presiding at the +time, and he wasna muckle older than Mr. Dishart is now. I mind he +speired for proof that we was needing, and my father couldna speak. He +just pointed at me. 'But you have a good coat on your back yoursel',' +Mr. Duthie said, for there were mony waiting, sair needing. 'It was +lended him to come here,' I cried, and without a word my father opened +the coat, and they saw he had nothing on aneath, and his skin blue wi +'cauld. Dominie, Mr. Duthie handed him one shilling and saxpence, and +my father's fingers closed greedily on't for a minute, and syne it +fell to the ground. They put it back in his hand, and it slipped out +again, and Mr. Duthie gave it back to him, saying, 'Are you so cauld +as that?' But, oh, man, it wasna cauld that did it, but shame o' being +on the rates. The blood a' ran to my father's head, and syne left it +as quick, and he flung down the siller and walked out o' the Town +House wi' me running after him. We warstled through that winter, God +kens how, and it's near a pleasure to me to think o't now, for, rain +or no rain, I can never be reduced to sic straits again." + +The farmer crossed the water without using the stilts which were no +longer necessary, and I little thought, as I returned to the +school-house, what terrible things were to happen before he could +offer me his snuff-mull again. Serious as his talk had been it was +neither of drought nor of the incident at the Spittal that I sat down +to think. My anxiety about Gavin came back to me until I was like a +man imprisoned between walls of his own building. It may be that my +presentiments of that afternoon look gloomier now than they were, +because I cannot return to them save over a night of agony, black +enough to darken any time connected with it. Perhaps my spirits only +fell as the wind rose, for wind ever takes me back to Harvie, and when +I think of Harvie my thoughts are of the saddest. I know that I sat +for some hours, now seeing Gavin pay the penalty of marrying the +Egyptian, and again drifting back to my days with Margaret, until the +wind took to playing tricks with me, so that I heard Adam Dishart +enter our home by the sea every time the school-house door shook. + +I became used to the illusion after starting several times, and thus +when the door did open, about seven o'clock, it was only the wind +rushing to my fire like a shivering dog that made me turn my head. +Then I saw the Egyptian staring at me, and though her sudden +appearance on my threshold was a strange thing, I forgot it in the +whiteness of her face. She was looking at me like one who has asked a +question of life or death, and stopped her heart for the reply. + +"What is it?" I cried, and for a moment I believe I was glad she did +not answer. She seemed to have told me already as much as I could +bear. + +"He has not heard," she said aloud in an expressionless voice, and, +turning, would have slipped away without another word. + +"Is any one dead?" I asked, seizing her hands and letting them fall, +they were so clammy. She nodded, and trying to speak could not. + +"He is dead," she said at last in a whisper. "Mr. Dishart is dead," +and she sat down quietly. + +At that I covered my face, crying, "God help Margaret!" and then she +rose, saying fiercely, so that I drew back from her, "There is no +Margaret; he only cared for me." + +"She is his mother," I said hoarsely, and then she smiled to me, so +that I thought her a harmless mad thing. "He was killed by a piper +called Lauchlan Campbell," she said, looking up at me suddenly. "It +was my fault." + +"Poor Margaret!" I wailed. + +"And poor Babbie," she entreated pathetically; "will no one say, 'Poor +Babbie'?" + + + + +Chapter Twenty-Seven. + +FIRST JOURNEY OF THE DOMINIE TO THRUMS DURING THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. + + +"How did it happen?" I asked more than once, but the Egyptian was only +with me in the body, and she did not hear. I might have been talking +to some one a mile away whom a telescope had drawn near my eyes. + +When I put on my bonnet, however, she knew that I was going to Thrums, +and she rose and walked to the door, looking behind to see that I +followed. + +"You must not come," I said harshly, but her hand started to her heart +as if I had shot her, and I added quickly, "Come." We were already +some distance on our way before I repeated my question. + +"What matter how it happened?" she answered piteously, and they were +words of which I felt the force. But when she said a little later, "I +thought you would say it is not true," I took courage, and forced her +to tell me all she knew. She sobbed while she spoke, if one may sob +without tears. + +"I heard of it at the Spittal," she said. "The news broke out suddenly +there that the piper had quarrelled with some one in Thrums, and that +in trying to separate them Mr. Dishart was stabbed. There is no doubt +of its truth." + +"We should have heard of it here," I said hopefully, "before the news +reached the Spittal. It cannot be true." + +"It was brought to the Spittal," she answered, "by the hill road." + +Then my spirits sank again, for I knew that this was possible. There +is a path, steep but short, across the hills between Thrums and the +top of the glen, which Mr. Glendinning took frequently when he had to +preach at both places on the same Sabbath. It is still called the +Minister's Road. + +"Yet if the earl had believed it he would have sent some one into +Thrums for particulars," I said, grasping at such comfort as I could +make. + +"He does believe it," she answered. "He told me of it himself." + +You see the Egyptian was careless of her secret now; but what was that +secret to me? An hour ago it would have been much, and already it was +not worth listening to. If she had begun to tell me why Lord Rintoul +took a gypsy girl into his confidence I should not have heard her. + +"I ran quickly," she said. "Even if a messenger was sent he might be +behind me." + +Was it her words or the tramp of a horse that made us turn our heads +at that moment? I know not. But far back in a twist of the road we saw +a horseman approaching at such a reckless pace that I thought he was +on a runaway. We stopped instinctively, and waited for him, and twice +he disappeared in hollows of the road, and then was suddenly tearing +down upon us. I recognised in him young Mr. McKenzie, a relative of +Rintoul, and I stretched out my arms to compel him to draw up. He +misunderstood my motive, and was raising his whip threateningly, when +he saw the Egyptian. It is not too much to say that he swayed in the +saddle. The horse galloped on, though he had lost hold of the reins. +He looked behind until he rounded a corner, and I never saw such +amazement mixed with incredulity on a human face. For some minutes I +expected to see him coming back, but when he did not I said +wonderingly to the Egyptian-- + +"He knew you." + +"Did he?" she answered indifferently, and I think we spoke no more +until we were in Windyghoul. Soon we were barely conscious of each +other's presence. Never since have I walked between the school-house +and Thrums in so short a time, nor seen so little on the way. + +In the Egyptian's eyes, I suppose, was a picture of Gavin lying dead; +but if her grief had killed her thinking faculties, mine, that was +only less keen because I had been struck down once before, had set all +the wheels of my brain in action. For it seemed to me that the hour +had come when I must disclose myself to Margaret. + +I had realised always that if such a necessity did arise it could only +be caused by Gavin's premature death, or by his proving a bad son to +her. Some may wonder that I could have looked calmly thus far into the +possible, but I reply that the night of Adam Dishart's homecoming had +made of me a man whom the future could not surprise again. Though I +saw Gavin and his mother happy in our Auld Licht manse, that did not +prevent my considering the contingencies which might leave her without +a son. In the school-house I had brooded over them as one may think +over moves on a draught-board. It may have been idle, but it was done +that I might know how to act best for Margaret if anything untoward +occurred. The time for such action had come. Gavin's death had struck +me hard, but it did not crush me. I was not unprepared. I was going to +Margaret now. + +What did I see as I walked quickly along the glen road, with Babbie +silent by my side, and I doubt not pods of the broom cracking all +around us? I saw myself entering the Auld Licht manse, where Margaret +sat weeping over the body of Gavin, and there was none to break my +coming to her, for none but she and I knew what had been. + +I saw my Margaret again, so fragile now, so thin the wrists, her hair +turned grey. No nearer could I go, but stopped at the door, grieving +for her, and at last saying her name aloud. + +I saw her raise her face, and look upon me for the first time for +eighteen years. She did not scream at sight of me, for the body of her +son lay between us, and bridged the gulf that Adam Dishart had made. + +I saw myself draw near her reverently and say, "Margaret, he is dead, +and that is why I have come back," and I saw her put her arms around +my neck as she often did long ago. + +But it was not to be. Never since that night at Harvie have I spoken +to Margaret. + +The Egyptian and I were to come to Windyghoul before I heard her +speak. She was not addressing me. Here Gavin and she had met first, +and she was talking of that meeting to herself. + +"It was there," I heard her say softly, as she gazed at the bush +beneath which she had seen him shaking his fist at her on the night of +the riots. A little farther on she stopped where a path from +Windyghoul sets off for the well in the wood. She looked up it +wistfully, and there I left her behind, and pressed on to the mudhouse +to ask Nanny Webster if the minister was dead. Nanny's gate was +swinging in the wind, but her door was shut, and for a moment I stood +at it like a coward, afraid to enter and hear the worst. + +The house was empty. I turned from it relieved, as if I had got a +respite, and while I stood in the garden the Egyptian came to me +shuddering, her twitching face asking the question that would not +leave her lips. + +"There is no one in the house," I said. "Nanny is perhaps at the +well." + +But the gypsy went inside, and pointing to the fire said, "It has been +out for hours. Do you not see? The murder has drawn every one into +Thrums." + +So I feared. A dreadful night was to pass before I knew that this was +the day of the release of Sanders Webster, and that frail Nanny had +walked into Tilliedrum to meet him at the prison gate. + +Babbie sank upon a stool, so weak that I doubt whether she heard me +tell her to wait there until my return. I hurried into Thrums, not by +the hill, though it is the shorter way, but by the Roods, for I must +hear all before I ventured to approach the manse. From Windyghoul to +the top of the Roods it is a climb and then a steep descent. The road +has no sooner reached its highest point than it begins to fall in the +straight line of houses called the Roods, and thus I came upon a full +view of the street at once. A cart was laboring up it. There were +women sitting on stones at their doors, and girls playing at +palaulays, and out of the house nearest me came a black figure. My +eyes failed me; I was asking so much from them. They made him tall and +short, and spare and stout, so that I knew it was Gavin, and yet, +looking again, feared, but all the time, I think, I knew it was he. + + + + +Chapter Twenty-Eight. + +THE HILL BEFORE DARKNESS FELL--SCENE OF THE IMPENDING CATASTROPHE. + + +"You are better now?" I heard Gavin ask, presently. + +He thought that having been taken ill suddenly I had waved to him for +help because he chanced to be near. With all my wits about me I might +have left him in that belief, for rather would I have deceived him +than had him wonder why his welfare seemed so vital to me. But I, who +thought the capacity for being taken aback had gone from me, clung to +his arm and thanked God audibly that he still lived. He did not tell +me then how my agitation puzzled him, but led me kindly to the hill, +where we could talk without listeners. By the time we reached it I was +again wary, and I had told him what had brought me to Thrums, without +mentioning how the story of his death reached my ears, or through +whom. + +"Mr. McKenzie," he said, interrupting me, "galloped all the way from +the Spittal on the same errand. However, no one has been hurt much, +except the piper himself." + +Then he told me how the rumor arose. + +"You know of the incident at the Spittal, and that Campbell marched +off in high dudgeon? I understand that he spoke to no one between the +Spittal and Thrums, but by the time he arrived here he was more +communicative; yes, and thirstier. He was treated to drink in several +public-houses by persons who wanted to hear his story, and by-and-by +he began to drop hints of knowing something against the earl's bride. +Do you know Rob Dow?" + +"Yes," I answered, "and what you have done for him." + +"Ah, sir!" he said, sighing, "for a long time I thought I was to be +God's instrument in making a better man of Rob, but my power over him +went long ago. Ten short months of the ministry takes some of the +vanity out of a man." + +Looking sideways at him I was startled by the unnatural brightness of +his eyes. Unconsciously he had acquired the habit of pressing his +teeth together in the pauses of his talk, shutting them on some woe +that would proclaim itself, as men do who keep their misery to +themselves. + +"A few hours ago," he went on, "I heard Rob's voice in altercation as +I passed the Bull tavern, and I had a feeling that if I failed with +him so should I fail always throughout my ministry. I walked into the +public-house, and stopped at the door of a room in which Dow and the +piper were sitting drinking. I heard Rob saying, fiercely, 'If what +you say about her is true, Highlandman, she's the woman I've been +looking for this half year and mair; what is she like?' I guessed, +from what I had been told of the piper, that they were speaking of the +earl's bride; but Rob saw me and came to an abrupt stop, saying to his +companion, 'Dinna say another word about her afore the minister.' Rob +would have come away at once in answer to my appeal, but the piper was +drunk and would not be silenced. 'I'll tell the minister about her, +too,' he began. 'You dinna ken what you're doing,' Rob roared, and +then, as if to save my ears from scandal at any cost, he struck +Campbell a heavy blow on the mouth. I tried to intercept the blow, +with the result that I fell, and then some one ran out of the tavern +crying, 'He's killed!' The piper had been stunned, but the story went +abroad that he had stabbed me for interfering with him. That is really +all. Nothing, as you know, can overtake an untruth if it has a +minute's start." + +"Where is Campbell now?" + +"Sleeping off the effect of the blow: but Dow has fled. He was +terrified at the shouts of murder, and ran off up the West Town end. +The doctor's dogcart was standing at a door there and Rob jumped into +it and drove off. They did not chase him far, because he is sure to +hear the truth soon, and then, doubtless, he will come back." + +Though in a few hours we were to wonder at our denseness, neither +Gavin nor I saw why Dow had struck the Highlander down rather than let +him tell his story in the minister's presence. One moment's suspicion +would have lit our way to the whole truth, but of the spring to all +Rob's behavior in the past eight months we were ignorant, and so to +Gavin the Bull had only been the scene of a drunken brawl, while I +forgot to think in the joy of finding him alive. + +"I have a prayer-meeting for rain presently," Gavin said, breaking a +picture that had just appeared unpleasantly before me of Babbie still +in agony at Nanny's, "but before I leave you tell me why this rumor +caused you such distress." + +The question troubled me, and I tried to avoid it. Crossing the hill +we had by this time drawn near a hollow called the Toad's-hole, then +gay and noisy with a caravan of gypsies. They were those same wild +Lindsays, for whom Gavin had searched Caddam one eventful night, and +as I saw them crowding round their king, a man well known to me, I +guessed what they were at. + +"Mr. Dishart," I said abruptly, "would you like to see a gypsy +marriage? One is taking place there just now. That big fellow is the +king, and he is about to marry two of his people over the tongs. The +ceremony will not detain us five minutes, though the rejoicings will +go on all night." + +I have been present at more than one gypsy wedding in my time, and at +the wild, weird orgies that followed them, but what is interesting to +such as I may not be for a minister's eyes, and, frowning at my +proposal, Gavin turned his back upon the Toad's-hole. Then, as we +recrossed the hill, to get away from the din of the camp, I pointed +out to him that the report of his death had brought McKenzie to +Thrums, as well as me. + +"As soon as McKenzie heard I was not dead," he answered, "he galloped +off to the Spittal, without even seeing me. I suppose he posted back +to be in time for the night's rejoicings there. So you see, it was not +solicitude for me that brought him. He came because a servant at the +Spittal was supposed to have done the deed." + +"Well, Mr. Dishart," I had to say, "why should I deny that I have a +warm regard for you? You have done brave work in our town." + +"It has been little," he replied. "With God's help it will be more in +future." + +He meant that he had given time to his sad love affair that he owed to +his people. Of seeing Babbie again I saw that he had given up hope. +Instead of repining, he was devoting his whole soul to God's work. I +was proud of him, and yet I grieved, for I could not think that God +wanted him to bury his youth so soon. + +"I had thought," he confessed to me, "that you were one of those who +did not like my preaching." + +"You were mistaken," I said, gravely. I dared not tell him that, +except his mother, none would have sat under him so eagerly as I. + +"Nevertheless," he said, "you were a member of the Auld Licht church +in Mr. Carfrae's time, and you left it when I came." + +"I heard your first sermon," I said. + +"Ah," he replied. "I had not been long in Thrums before I discovered +that if I took tea with any of my congregation and declined a second +cup, they thought it a reflection on their brewing." + +"You must not look upon my absence in that light," was all I could +say. "There are reasons why I cannot come." + +He did not press me further, thinking I meant that the distance was +too great, though frailer folk than I walked twenty miles to hear him. +We might have parted thus had we not wandered by chance to the very +spot where I had met him and Babbie. There is a seat there now for +those who lose their breath on the climb up, and so I have two reasons +nowadays for not passing the place by. + +We read each other's thoughts, and Gavin said calmly, "I have not seen +her since that night. She disappeared as into a grave." + +How could I answer when I knew that Babbie was dying for want of him, +not half a mile away? + +"You seemed to understand everything that night," he went on; "or if +you did not, your thoughts were very generous to me." + +In my sorrow for him I did not notice that we were moving on again, +this time in the direction of Windyghoul. + +"She was only a gypsy girl," he said, abruptly, and I nodded. "But I +hoped," he continued, "that she would be my wife." + +"I understood that," I said. + +"There was nothing monstrous to you," he asked, looking me in the +face, "in a minister's marrying a gypsy?" + +I own that if I had loved a girl, however far below or above me in +degree, I would have married her had she been willing to take me. But +to Gavin I only answered, "These are matters a man must decide for +himself." + +"I had decided for myself," he said, emphatically. + +"Yet," I said, wanting him to talk to me of Margaret, "in such a case +one might have others to consider besides himself." + +"A man's marriage," he answered, "is his own affair, I would have +brooked no interference from my congregation." + +I thought, "There is some obstinacy left in him still;" but aloud I +said, "It was of your mother I was thinking." + +"She would have taken Babbie to her heart," he said, with the fond +conviction of a lover. + +I doubted it, but I only asked, "Your mother knows nothing of her?" + +"Nothing," he rejoined. "It would be cruelty to tell my mother of her +now that she is gone." + +Gavin's calmness had left him, and he was striding quickly nearer to +Windyghoul. I was in dread lest he should see the Egyptian at Nanny's +door, yet to have turned him in another direction might have roused +his suspicions. When we were within a hundred yards of the mudhouse, I +knew that there was no Babbie in sight. We halved the distance and +then I saw her at the open window. Gavin's eyes were on the ground, +but she saw him. I held my breath, fearing that she would run out to +him. + +"You have never seen her since that night?" Gavin asked me, without +hope in his voice. + +Had he been less hopeless he would have wondered why I did not reply +immediately. I was looking covertly at the mudhouse, of which we were +now within a few yards. Babbie's face had gone from the window, and +the door remained shut. That she could hear every word we uttered now, +I could not doubt. But she was hiding from the man for whom her soul +longed. She was sacrificing herself for him. + +"Never," I answered, notwithstanding my pity of the brave girl, and +then while I was shaking lest he should go in to visit Nanny, I heard +the echo of the Auld Licht bell. + +"That calls me to the meeting for rain," Gavin said, bidding me +good-night. I had acted for Margaret, and yet I had hardly the +effrontery to take his hand. I suppose he saw sympathy in my face, for +suddenly the cry broke from him-- + +"If I could only know that nothing evil had befallen her!" + +Babbie heard him and could not restrain a heart-breaking sob. + +"What was that?" he said, starting. + +A moment I waited, to let her show herself if she chose. But the +mudhouse was silent again. + +"It was some boy in the wood," I answered. + +"Good-bye," he said, trying to smile. + +Had I let him go, here would have been the end of his love story, but +that piteous smile unmanned me, and I could not keep the words back. + +"She is in Nanny's house," I cried. + +In another moment these two were together for weal or woe, and I had +set off dizzily for the school-house, feeling now that I had been +false to Margaret, and again exulting in what I had done. By and by +the bell stopped, and Gavin and Babbie regarded it as little as I +heeded the burns now crossing the glen road noisily at places that had +been dry two hours before. + + + + +Chapter Twenty-Nine. + +STORY OF THE EGYPTIAN. + + +God gives us more than, were we not overbold, we should dare to ask +for, and yet how often (perhaps after saying "Thank God" so curtly +that it is only a form of swearing) we are suppliants again within the +hour. Gavin was to be satisfied if he were told that no evil had +befallen her he loved, and all the way between the school-house and +Windyghoul Babbie craved for no more than Gavin's life. Now they had +got their desires; but do you think they were content? + +The Egyptian had gone on her knees when she heard Gavin speak of her. +It was her way of preventing herself from running to him. Then, when +she thought him gone, he opened the door. She rose and shrank back, +but first she had stepped toward him with a glad cry. His disappointed +arms met on nothing. + +"You, too, heard that I was dead?" he said, thinking her strangeness +but grief too sharply turned to joy. + +There were tears in the word with which she answered him, and he would +have kissed her, but she defended her face with her hand. + +"Babbie," he asked, beginning to fear that he had not sounded her +deepest woe, "why have you left me all this time? You are not glad to +see me now?" + +"I was glad," she answered in a low voice, "to see you from the +window, but I prayed to God not to let you see me." + +She even pulled away her hand when he would have taken it. "No, no, I +am to tell you everything now, and then----" + +"Say that you love me first," he broke in, when a sob checked her +speaking. + +"No," she said, "I must tell you first what I have done, and then you +will not ask me to say that. I am not a gypsy." + +"What of that?" cried Gavin. "It was not because you were a gypsy that +I loved you." + +"That is the last time you will say you love me," said Babbie. "Mr. +Dishart, I am to be married to-morrow." + +She stopped, afraid to say more lest he should fall, but except that +his arms twitched he did not move. + +"I am to be married to Lord Rintoul," she went on. "Now you know who I +am." + +She turned from him, for his piercing eyes frightened her. Never +again, she knew, would she see the love-light in them. He plucked +himself from the spot where he had stood looking at her and walked to +the window. When he wheeled round there was no anger on his face, only +a pathetic wonder that he had been deceived so easily. It was at +himself that he was smiling grimly rather than at her, and the change +pained Babbie as no words could have hurt her. He sat down on a chair +and waited for her to go on. + +"Don't look at me," she said, "and I will tell you everything." He +dropped his eyes listlessly, and had he not asked her a question from +time to time, she would have doubted whether he heard her. + +"After all," she said, "a gypsy dress is my birth-right, and so the +Thrums people were scarcely wrong in calling me an Egyptian. It is a +pity any one insisted on making me something different. I believe I +could have been a good gypsy." + +"Who were your parents?" Gavin asked, without looking up. + +"You ask that," she said, "because you have a good mother. It is not +a question that would occur to me. My mother--If she was bad, may not +that be some excuse for me? Ah, but I have no wish to excuse myself. +Have you seen a gypsy cart with a sort of hammock swung beneath it in +which gypsy children are carried about the country? If there are no +children, the pots and pans are stored in it. Unless the roads are +rough it makes a comfortable cradle, and it was the only one I ever +knew. Well, one day I suppose the road was rough, for I was capsized. +I remember picking myself up after a little and running after the +cart, but they did not hear my cries. I sat down by the roadside and +stared after the cart until I lost sight of it. That was in England, +and I was not three years old." + +"But surely," Gavin said, "they came back to look for you?" + +"So far as I know," Babbie answered hardly, "they did not come back. I +have never seen them since. I think they were drunk. My only +recollection of my mother is that she once took me to see the dead +body of some gypsy who had been murdered. She told me to dip my hand +in the blood, so that I could say I had done so when I became a woman. +It was meant as a treat to me, and is the one kindness I am sure I got +from her. Curiously enough, I felt the shame of her deserting me for +many years afterwards. As a child I cried hysterically at thought of +it; it pained me when I was at school in Edinburgh every time I saw +the other girls writing home; I cannot think of it without a shudder +even now. It is what makes me worse than other women." + +Her voice had altered, and she was speaking passionately. + +"Sometimes," she continued, more gently, "I try to think that my +mother did come back for me, and then went away because she heard I +was in better hands than hers. It was Lord Rintoul who found me, and I +owe everything to him. You will say that he has no need to be proud +of me. He took me home on his horse, and paid his gardener's wife to +rear me. She was Scotch, and that is why I can speak two languages. It +was he, too, who sent me to school in Edinburgh." + +"He has been very kind to you," said Gavin, who would have preferred +to dislike the earl. + +"So kind," answered Babbie, "that now he is to marry me. But do you +know why he has done all this?" + +Now again she was agitated, and spoke indignantly. + +"It is all because I have a pretty face," she said, her bosom rising +and falling. "Men think of nothing else. He had no pity for the +deserted child. I knew that while I was yet on his horse. When he came +to the gardener's afterwards, it was not to give me some one to love, +it was only to look upon what was called my beauty; I was merely a +picture to him, and even the gardener's children knew it and sought to +terrify me by saying, 'You are losing your looks; the earl will not +care for you any more.' Sometimes he brought his friends to see me, +'because I was such a lovely child,' and if they did not agree with +him on that point he left without kissing me. Throughout my whole +girlhood I was taught nothing but to please him, and the only way to +do that was to be pretty. It was the only virtue worth striving for; +the others were never thought of when he asked how I was getting on. +Once I had fever and nearly died, yet this knowledge that my face was +everything was implanted in me so that my fear lest he should think me +ugly when I recovered terrified me into hysterics. I dream still that +I am in that fever and all my fears return. He did think me ugly when +he saw me next. I remember the incident so well still. I had run to +him, and he was lifting me up to kiss me when he saw that my face had +changed. 'What a cruel disappointment,' he said, and turned his back +on me. I had given him a child's love until then, but from that day I +was hard and callous." + +"And when was it you became beautiful again?" Gavin asked, by no means +in the mind to pay compliments. + +"A year passed," she continued, "before I saw him again. In that time +he had not asked for me once, and the gardener had kept me out of +charity. It was by an accident that we met, and at first he did not +know me. Then he said, 'Why, Babbie, I believe you are to be a beauty, +after all!' I hated him for that, and stalked away from him, but he +called after me, 'Bravo! she walks like a queen'; and it was because I +walked like a queen that he sent me to an Edinburgh school. He used to +come to see me every year, and as I grew up the girls called me Lady +Rintoul. He was not fond of me; he is not fond of me now. He would as +soon think of looking at the back of a picture as at what I am apart +from my face, but he dotes on it, and is to marry it. Is that love? +Long before I left school, which was shortly before you came to +Thrums, he had told his sister that he was determined to marry me, and +she hated me for it, making me as uncomfortable as she could, so that +I almost looked forward to the marriage because it would be such a +humiliation to her." + +In admitting this she looked shamefacedly at Gavin, and then went on: + +"It is humiliating him too. I understand him. He would like not to +want to marry me, for he is ashamed of my origin, but he cannot help +it. It is this feeling that has brought him here, so that the marriage +may take place where my history is not known." + +"The secret has been well kept," Gavin said, "for they have failed to +discover it even in Thrums." + +"Some of the Spittal servants suspect it, nevertheless," Babbie +answered, "though how much they know I cannot say. He has not a +servant now, either here or in England, who knew me as a child. The +gardener who befriended me was sent away long ago. Lord Rintoul looks +upon me as a disgrace to him that he cannot live without." + +"I dare say he cares for you more than you think," Gavin said +gravely. + +"He is infatuated about my face, or the pose of my head, or something +of that sort," Babbie said bitterly, "or he would not have endured me +so long. I have twice had the wedding postponed, chiefly, I believe, +to enrage my natural enemy, his sister, who is as much aggravated by +my reluctance to marry him as by his desire to marry me. However, I +also felt that imprisonment for life was approaching as the day drew +near, and I told him that if he did not defer the wedding I should run +away. He knows I am capable of it, for twice I ran away from school. +If his sister only knew that!" + +For a moment it was the old Babbie Gavin saw; but her glee was +short-lived, and she resumed sedately: + +"They were kind to me at school, but the life was so dull and prim +that I ran off in a gypsy dress of my own making. That is what it is +to have gypsy blood in one. I was away for a week the first time, +wandering the country alone, telling fortunes, dancing and singing in +woods, and sleeping in barns. I am the only woman in the world well +brought up who is not afraid of mice or rats. That is my gypsy blood +again. After that wild week I went back to the school of my own will, +and no one knows of the escapade but my schoolmistress and Lord +Rintoul. The second time, however, I was detected singing in the +street, and then my future husband was asked to take me away. Yet Miss +Feversham cried when I left, and told me that I was the nicest girl +she knew, as well as the nastiest. She said she should love me as soon +as I was not one of her boarders." + +"And then you came to the Spittal?" + +"Yes; and Lord Rintoul wanted me to say I was sorry for what I had +done, but I told him I need not say that, for I was sure to do it +again. As you know, I have done it several times since then; and +though I am a different woman since I knew you, I dare say I shall go +on doing it at times all my life. You shake your head because you do +not understand. It is not that I make up my mind to break out in that +way; I may not have had the least desire to do it for weeks, and then +suddenly, when I am out riding, or at dinner, or at a dance, the +craving to be a gypsy again is so strong that I never think of +resisting it; I would risk my life to gratify it. Yes, whatever my +life in the future is to be, I know that must be a part of it. I used +to pretend at the Spittal that I had gone to bed, and then escape by +the window. I was mad with glee at those times, but I always returned +before morning, except once, the last time I saw you, when I was away +for nearly twenty-four hours. Lord Rintoul was so glad to see me come +back then that he almost forgave me for going away. There is nothing +more to tell except that on the night of the riot it was not my gypsy +nature that brought me to Thrums, but a desire to save the poor +weavers. I had heard Lord Rintoul and the sheriff discussing the +contemplated raid. I have hidden nothing from you. In time, perhaps, I +shall have suffered sufficiently for all my wickedness." + +Gavin rose weariedly, and walked through the mudhouse looking at her. + +"This is the end of it all," he said harshly, coming to a standstill. +"I loved you, Babbie." + +"No," she answered, shaking her head. "You never knew me until now, +and so it was not me you loved. I know what you thought I was, and I +will try to be it now." + +"If you had only told me this before," the minister said sadly, "it +might not have been too late." + +"I only thought you like all the other men I knew," she replied, +"until the night I came to the manse. It was only my face you admired +at first." + +"No, it was never that," Gavin said with such conviction that her +mouth opened in alarm to ask him if he did not think her pretty. She +did not speak, however, and he continued, "You must have known that I +loved you from the first night." + +"No; you only amused me," she said, like one determined to stint +nothing of the truth. "Even at the well I laughed at your vows." + +This wounded Gavin afresh, wretched as her story had made him, and he +said tragically, "You have never cared for me at all." + +"Oh, always, always," she answered, "since I knew what love was; and +it was you who taught me." + +Even in his misery he held his head high with pride. At least she did +love him. + +"And then," Babbie said, hiding her face, "I could not tell you what I +was because I knew you would loathe me. I could only go away." + +She looked at him forlornly through her tears, and then moved toward +the door. He had sunk upon a stool, his face resting on the table, and +it was her intention to slip away unnoticed. But he heard the latch +rise, and jumping up, said sharply, "Babbie, I cannot give you up." + +She stood in tears, swinging the door unconsciously with her hand. + +"Don't say that you love me still," she cried; and then, letting her +hand fall from the door, added imploringly, "Oh, Gavin, do you?" + + + + +Chapter Thirty. + +THE MEETING FOR RAIN. + + +Meanwhile the Auld Lichts were in church, waiting for their minister, +and it was a full meeting, because nearly every well in Thrums had +been scooped dry by anxious palms. Yet not all were there to ask God's +rain for themselves. Old Charles Yuill was in his pew, after dreaming +thrice that he would break up with the drought; and Bell Christison +had come, though her man lay dead at home, and she thought it could +matter no more to her how things went in the world. + +You, who do not love that little congregation, would have said that +they were waiting placidly. But probably so simple a woman as Meggy +Rattray could have deceived you into believing that because her eyes +were downcast she did not notice who put the three-penny-bit in the +plate. A few men were unaware that the bell was working overtime, most +of them farmers with their eyes on the windows, but all the women at +least were wondering. They knew better, however, than to bring their +thoughts to their faces, and none sought to catch another's eye. The +men-folk looked heavily at their hats in the seats in front. Even when +Hendry Munn, instead of marching to the pulpit with the big Bible in +his hands, came as far as the plate and signed to Peter Tosh, elder, +that he was wanted in the vestry, you could not have guessed how every +woman there, except Bell Christison, wished she was Peter Tosh. Peter +was so taken aback that he merely gaped at Hendry, until suddenly he +knew that his five daughters were furious with him, when he dived for +his hat and staggered to the vestry with his mouth open. His boots +cheeped all the way, but no one looked up. + +"I hadna noticed the minister was lang in coming," Waster Lunny told +me afterward, "but Elspeth noticed it, and with a quickness that +baffles me she saw I was thinking o' other things. So she let out her +foot at me. I gae a low cough to let her ken I wasna sleeping, but in +a minute out goes her foot again. Ay, syne I thocht I micht hae +dropped my hanky into Snecky Hobart's pew, but no, it was in my tails. +Yet her hand was on the board, and she was working her fingers in a +way that I kent meant she would like to shake me. Next I looked to see +if I was sitting on her frock, the which tries a woman sair, but I +wasna. 'Does she want to change Bibles wi' me?' I wondered; 'or is she +sliding yont a peppermint to me?' It was neither, so I edged as far +frae her as I could gang. Weel, would you credit it, I saw her body +coming nearer me inch by inch, though she was looking straucht afore +her, till she was within kick o' me, and then out again goes her foot. +At that, dominie, I lost patience, and I whispered, fierce-like, 'Keep +your foot to yoursel', you limmer!' Ay, her intent, you see, was to +waken me to what was gaen on, but I couldna be expected to ken that." + +In the vestry Hendry Munn was now holding counsel with three elders, +of whom the chief was Lang Tammas. + +"The laddie I sent to the manse," Hendry said, "canna be back this +five minutes, and the question is how we're to fill up that time. I'll +ring no langer, for the bell has been in a passion ever since a +quarter-past eight. It's as sweer to clang past the quarter as a horse +to gallop by its stable." + +"You could gang to your box and gie out a psalm, Tammas," suggested +John Spens. + +"And would a psalm sung wi' sic an object," retorted the precentor, +"mount higher, think you, than a bairn's kite? I'll insult the +Almighty to screen no minister." + +"You're screening him better by standing whaur you are," said the +imperturbable Hendry; "for as lang as you dinna show your face they'll +think it may be you that's missing instead o' Mr. Dishart." + +Indeed, Gavin's appearance in church without the precentor would have +been as surprising as Tammas's without the minister. As certainly as +the shutting of a money-box is followed by the turning of the key, did +the precentor walk stiffly from the vestry to his box a toll of the +bell in front of the minister. Tammas's halfpenny rang in the plate as +Gavin passed T'nowhead's pew, and Gavin's sixpence with the +snapping-to of the precentor's door. The two men might have been +connected by a string that tightened at ten yards. + +"The congregation ken me ower weel," Tammas said, "to believe I would +keep the Lord waiting." + +"And they are as sure o' Mr. Dishart," rejoined Spens, with spirit, +though he feared the precentor on Sabbaths and at prayer-meetings. +"You're a hard man." + +"I speak the blunt truth," Whamond answered. + +"Ay," said Spens, "and to tak' credit for that may be like blawing +that you're ower honest to wear claethes." + +Hendry, who had gone to the door, returned now with the information +that Mr. Dishart had left the manse two hours ago to pay visits, +meaning to come to the prayer-meeting before he returned home. + +"There's a quirk in this, Hendry," said Tosh. "Was it Mistress Dishart +the laddie saw?" + +[Illustration: "THE CONSULTATION OF THE ELDERS."] + +"No," Hendry replied. "It was Jean. She canna get to the meeting +because the mistress is nervous in the manse by herself; and Jean +didna like to tell her that he's missing, for fear o' alarming her. +What are we to do now?" + +"He's an unfaithful shepherd," cried the precentor, while Hendry again +went out. "I see it written on the walls." + +"I dinna," said Spens doggedly. + +"Because," retorted Tammas, "having eyes you see not." + +"Tammas, I aye thocht you was fond o' Mr. Dishart." + +"If my right eye were to offend me," answered the precentor, "I would +pluck it out. I suppose you think, and baith o' you farmers too, that +there's no necessity for praying for rain the nicht? You'll be +content, will ye, if Mr. Dishart just drops in to the kirk some day, +accidental-like, and offers up a bit prayer?" + +"As for the rain," Spens said, triumphantly, "I wouldna wonder though +it's here afore the minister. You canna deny, Peter Tosh, that there's +been a smell o' rain in the air this twa hours back." + +"John," Peter said agitatedly, "dinna speak so confidently. I've kent +it," he whispered, "since the day turned; but it wants to tak' us by +surprise, lad, and so I'm no letting on." + +"See that you dinna make an idol o' the rain," thundered Whamond. +"Your thochts is no wi' Him, but wi' the clouds; and whaur your +thochts are, there will your prayers stick also." + +"If you saw my lambs," Tosh began; and then, ashamed of himself, said, +looking upward, "He holds the rain in the hollow of His hand." + +"And He's closing His neive ticht on't again," said the precentor +solemnly. "Hearken to the wind rising!" + +"God help me!" cried Tosh, wringing his hands. "Is it fair, think +you," he said, passionately addressing the sky, "to show your wrath +wi' Mr. Dishart by ruining my neeps?" + +"You were richt, Tammas Whamond," Spens said, growing hard as he +listened to the wind, "the sanctuary o' the Lord has been profaned +this nicht by him wha should be the chief pillar o' the building." + +They were lowering brows that greeted Hendry when he returned to say +that Mr. Dishart had been seen last on the hill with the Glen Quharity +dominie. + +"Some thinks," said the kirk officer, "that he's awa hunting for Rob +Dow." + +"Nothing'll excuse him," replied Spens, "short o' his having fallen +over the quarry." + +Hendry's was usually a blank face, but it must have looked troubled +now, for Tosh was about to say, "Hendry, you're keeping something +back," when the precentor said it before him. + +"Wi' that story o' Mr. Dishart's murder, no many hours auld yet," the +kirk officer replied evasively, "we should be wary o' trusting +gossip." + +"What hae you heard?" + +"It's through the town," Hendry answered, "that a woman was wi' the +dominie." + +"A woman!" cried Tosh. "The woman there's been sic talk about in +connection wi' the minister? Whaur are they now?" + +"It's no kent, but--the dominie was seen goin' hame by himsel'." + +"Leaving the minister and her thegither!" cried the three men at +once. + +"Hendry Munn," Tammas said sternly, "there's mair about this; wha is +the woman?" + +"They are liars," Hendry answered, and shut his mouth tight. + +"Gie her a name, I say," the precentor ordered, "or, as chief elder of +this kirk, supported by mair than half o' the Session, I command you +to lift your hat and go." + +Hendry gave an appealing look to Tosh and Spens, but the precentor's +solemnity had cowed them. + +"They say, then," he answered sullenly, "that it's the Egyptian. Yes, +and I believe they ken." + +The two farmers drew back from this statement incredulously; but +Tammas Whamond jumped at the kirk officer's throat, and some who were +in the church that night say they heard Hendry scream. Then the +precentor's fingers relaxed their grip, and he tottered into the +middle of the room. + +"Hendry," he pleaded, holding out his arms pathetically, "tak' back +these words. Oh, man, have pity, and tak' them back!" + +But Hendry would not, and then Lang Tammas's mouth worked convulsively, +and he sobbed, crying, "Nobody kent it, but mair than mortal son, O +God, I did love the lad!" + +So seldom in a lifetime had any one seen into this man's heart that +Spens said, amazed: + +"Tammas, Tammas Whamond, it's no like you to break down." + +The rusty door of Whamond's heart swung to. + +"Who broke down?" he asked fiercely. "Let no member of this Session +dare to break down till his work be done." + +"What work?" Tosh said uneasily. "We canna interfere." + +"I would rather resign," Spens said, but shook when Whamond hurled +these words at him: + +"'And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough +and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.'" + +"It mayna be true," Hendry said eagerly. + +"We'll soon see." + +"He would gie her up," said Tosh. + +"Peter Tosh," answered Whamond sternly, "I call upon you to dismiss +the congregation." + +"Should we no rather haud the meeting oursel's?" + +"We have other work afore us," replied the precentor. + +"But what can I say?" Tosh asked nervously. "Should I offer up a +prayer?" + +"I warn you all," broke in Hendry, "that though the congregation is +sitting there quietly, they'll be tigers for the meaning o' this as +soon as they're in the street." + +"Let no ontruth be telled them," said the precentor. "Peter Tosh, do +your duty. John Spens, remain wi' me." + +The church emptied silently, but a buzz of excitement arose outside. +Many persons tried to enter the vestry, but were ordered away, and +when Tosh joined his fellow-elders the people were collecting in +animated groups in the square, or scattering through the wynds for +news. + +"And now," said the precentor, "I call upon the three o' you to come +wi' me. Hendry Munn, you gang first." + +"I maun bide ahint," Hendry said, with a sudden fear, "to lock up the +kirk." + +"I'll lock up the kirk," Whamond answered harshly. + +"You maun gie me the keys, though," entreated the kirk officer. + +"I'll take care o' the keys," said Whamond. + +"I maun hae them," Hendry said, "to open the kirk on Sabbath." + +The precentor locked the doors, and buttoned up the keys in his +trousers pockets. + +"Wha kens," he said, in a voice of steel, "that the kirk'll be open +next Sabbath?" + +"Hae some mercy on him, Tammas," Spens implored. "He's no +twa-and-twenty." + +"Wha kens," continued the precentor, "but that the next time this kirk +is opened will be to preach it toom?" + +"What road do we tak'?" + +"The road to the hill, whaur he was seen last." + + + + +Chapter Thirty-One. + +VARIOUS BODIES CONVERGING ON THE HILL. + + +It would be coming on for a quarter-past nine, and a misty night, when +I reached the school-house, and I was so weary of mind and body that I +sat down without taking off my bonnet. I had left the door open, and I +remember listlessly watching the wind making a target of my candle, +but never taking a sufficiently big breath to do more than frighten +it. From this lethargy I was roused by the sound of wheels. + +In the daytime our glen road leads to many parts, but in the night +only to the doctor's. Then the gallop of a horse makes farmers start +up in bed and cry, "Who's ill?" I went to my door and listened to the +trap coming swiftly down the lonely glen, but I could not see it, for +there was a trailing scarf of mist between the school-house and the +road. Presently I heard the swish of the wheels in water, and so +learned that they were crossing the ford to come to me. I had been +unstrung by the events of the evening, and fear at once pressed thick +upon me that this might be a sequel to them, as indeed it was. + +While still out of sight the trap stopped, and I heard some one jump +from it. Then came this conversation, as distinct as though it had +been spoken into my ear: + +"Can you see the school-house now, McKenzie?" + +"I am groping for it, Rintoul. The mist seems to have made off with +the path." + +"Where are you, McKenzie? I have lost sight of you." + +It was but a ribbon of mist, and as these words were spoken McKenzie +broke through it. I saw him, though to him I was only a stone at my +door. + +"I have found the house, Rintoul," he shouted, "and there is a light +in it, so that the fellow has doubtless returned." + +"Then wait a moment for me." + +"Stay where you are, Rintoul, I entreat you, and leave him to me. He +may recognize you." + +"No, no, McKenzie, I am sure he never saw me before. I insist on +accompanying you." + +"Your excitement, Rintoul, will betray you. Let me go alone. I can +question him without rousing his suspicions. Remember, she is only a +gypsy to him." + +"He will learn nothing from me. I am quite calm now." + +"Rintoul, I warn you your manner will betray you, and to-morrow it +will be roared through the countryside that your bride ran away from +the Spittal in a gypsy dress, and had to be brought back by force." + +The altercation may have lasted another minute, but the suddenness +with which I learned Babbie's secret had left my ears incapable of +learning more. I daresay the two men started when they found me at my +door, but they did not remember, as few do remember who have the noisy +day to forget it in, how far the voice carries in the night. + +They came as suddenly on me as I on them, for though they had given +unintentional notice of their approach, I had lost sight of the +speakers in their amazing words. Only a moment did young McKenzie's +anxiety to be spokesman give me to regard Lord Rintoul. I saw that he +was a thin man and tall, straight in the figure, but his head began to +sink into his shoulders and not very steady on them. His teeth had +grip of his under-lip, as if this was a method of controlling his +agitation, and he was opening and shutting his hands restlessly. He +had a dog with him which I was to meet again. + +"Well met, Mr. Ogilvy," said McKenzie, who knew me slightly, having +once acted as judge at a cock-fight in the school-house. "We were +afraid we should have to rouse you." + +"You will step inside?" I asked awkwardly, and while I spoke I was +wondering how long it would be before the earl's excitement broke +out. + +"It is not necessary," McKenzie answered hurriedly. "My friend and I +(this is Mr. McClure) have been caught in the mist without a lamp, and +we thought you could perhaps favor us with one." + +"Unfortunately I have nothing of the kind," I said, and the state of +mind I was in is shown by my answering seriously. + +"Then we must wish you a good-night and manage as best we can," he +said; and then before he could touch, with affected indifference, on +the real object of their visit, the alarmed earl said angrily, +"McKenzie, no more of this." + +"No more of this delay, do you mean, McClure?" asked McKenzie, and +then, turning to me said, "By the way, Mr. Ogilvy, I think this is our +second meeting to-night. I met you on the road a few hours ago with +your wife. Or was it your daughter?" + +"It was neither, Mr. McKenzie," I answered, with the calmness of one +not yet recovered from a shock. "It was a gypsy girl." + +"Where is she now?" cried Rintoul feverishly; but McKenzie, speaking +loudly at the same time, tried to drown his interference as one +obliterates writing by writing over it. + +"A strange companion for a schoolmaster," he said. "What became of +her?" + +"I left her near Caddam Wood," I replied, "but she is probably not +there now." + +"Ah, they are strange creatures, these gypsies!" he said, casting a +warning look at the earl. "Now I wonder where she had been bound +for." + +"There is a gypsy encampment on the hill," I answered, though I cannot +say why. + +"She is there!" exclaimed Rintoul, and was done with me. + +"I daresay," McKenzie said indifferently. "However, it is nothing to +us. Good-night, sir." + +The earl had started for the trap, but McKenzie's salute reminded him +of a forgotten courtesy, and, despite his agitation, he came back to +apologize. I admired him for this. Then my thoughtlessness must needs +mar all. + +"Good-night, Mr. McKenzie," I said. "Good-night, Lord Rintoul." + +I had addressed him by his real name. Never a turnip fell from a +bumping, laden cart, and the driver more unconscious of it, than I +that I had dropped that word. I re-entered the house, but had not +reached my chair when McKenzie's hand fell roughly on me, and I was +swung round. + +"Mr. Ogilvy," he said, the more savagely I doubt not because his +passions had been chained so long, "you know more than you would have +us think. Beware, sir, of recognising that gypsy should you ever see +her again in different attire. I advise you to have forgotten this +night when you waken to-morrow morning." + +With a menacing gesture he left me, and I sank into a chair, glad to +lose sight of the glowering eyes with which he had pinned me to the +wall. I did not hear the trap cross the ford and renew its journey. +When I looked out next, the night had fallen very dark, and the glen +was so deathly in its drowsiness that I thought not even the cry of +murder could tear its eyes open. + +The earl and McKenzie would be some distance still from the hill when +the office-bearers had scoured it in vain for their minister. The +gypsies, now dancing round their fires to music that, on ordinary +occasions, Lang Tammas would have stopped by using his fists to the +glory of God, had seen no minister, they said, and disbelieved in the +existence of the mysterious Egyptian. + +"Liars they are to trade," Spens declared to his companions, "but now +and again they speak truth, like a standing clock, and I'm beginning +to think the minister's lassie was invented in the square." + +"Not so," said the precentor, "for we saw her oursel's a short year +syne, and Hendry Munn there allows there's townsfolk that hae passed +her in the glen mair recently." + +"I only allowed," Hendry said cautiously, "that some sic talk had shot +up sudden-like in the town. Them that pretends they saw her says that +she joukit quick out o' sicht." + +"Ay, and there's another quirk in that," responded the suspicious +precentor. + +"I'se uphaud the minister's sitting in the manse in his slippers by +this time," Hendry said. + +"I'm willing," replied Whamond, "to gang back and speir, or to search +Caddam next; but let the matter drop I winna, though I ken you're a' +awid to be hame now." + +"And naturally," retorted Tosh, "for the nicht's coming on as black as +pick, and by the time we're at Caddam we'll no even see the trees." + +Toward Caddam, nevertheless, they advanced, hearing nothing but a +distant wind and the whish of their legs in the broom. + +"Whaur's John Spens?" Hendry said suddenly. + +They turned back and found Spens rooted to the ground, as a boy +becomes motionless when he thinks he is within arm's reach of a nest +and the bird sitting on the eggs. + +"What do you see, man?" Hendry whispered. + +"As sure as death," answered Spens, awe-struck, "I felt a drap o' +rain." + +"It's no rain we're here to look for," said the precentor. + +"Peter Tosh," cried Spens, "it was a drap! Oh, Peter! how are you +looking at me so queer, Peter, when you should be thanking the Lord +for the promise that's in that drap?" + +"Come away," Whamond said, impatiently; but Spens answered, "No till +I've offered up a prayer for the promise that's in that drap. Peter +Tosh, you've forgotten to take off your bonnet." + +"Think twice, John Spens," gasped Tosh, "afore you pray for rain this +nicht." + +The others thought him crazy, but he went on, with a catch in his +voice: + +"I felt a drap o' rain mysel', just afore it came on dark so hurried, +and my first impulse was to wish that I could carry that drap about +wi' me and look at it. But, John Spens, when I looked up I saw sic a +change running ower the sky that I thocht hell had taen the place o' +heaven, and that there was waterspouts gathering therein for the +drowning o' the world." + +"There's no water in hell," the precentor said grimly. + +"Genesis ix.," said Spens, "verses 8 to 17. Ay, but, Peter, you've +startled me, and I'm thinking we should be stepping hame. Is that a +licht?" + +"It'll be in Nanny Webster's," Hendry said, after they had all +regarded the light. + +"I never heard that Nanny needed a candle to licht her to her bed," +the precentor muttered. + +"She was awa to meet Sanders the day as he came out o' the Tilliedrum +gaol," Spens remembered, "and I daresay the licht means they're hame +again." + +"It's well kent--" began Hendry, and would have recalled his words. + +"Hendry Munn," cried the precentor, "if you hae minded onything that +may help us, out wi't." + +"I was just minding," the kirk officer answered reluctantly, "that +Nanny allows it's Mr. Dishart that has been keeping her frae the +poorhouse. You canna censure him for that, Tammas." + +"Can I no?" retorted Whamond. "What business has he to befriend a +woman that belongs to another denomination? I'll see to the bottom o' +that this nicht. Lads, follow me to Nanny's, and dinna be surprised if +we find baith the minister and the Egyptian there." + +They had not advanced many yards when Spens jumped to the side, +crying, "Be wary, that's no the wind; it's a machine!" + +Immediately the doctor's dogcart was close to them, with Rob Dow for +its only occupant. He was driving slowly, or Whamond could not have +escaped the horse's hoofs. + +"Is that you, Rob Dow?" said the precentor sourly. "I tell you, you'll +be gaoled for stealing the doctor's machine." + +"The Hielandman wasna muckle hurt, Rob," Hendry said, more +good-naturedly. + +"I ken that," replied Rob, scowling at the four of them. "What are you +doing here on sic a nicht?" + +"Do you see anything strange in the nicht, Rob?" Tosh asked +apprehensively. + +"It's setting to rain," Dow replied. "I dinna see it, but I feel it." + +"Ay," said Tosh, eagerly, "but will it be a saft, cowdie sweet +ding-on?" + +"Let the heavens open if they will," interposed Spens recklessly. "I +would swap the drought for rain, though it comes down in a sheet as in +the year twelve." + +"And like a sheet it'll come," replied Dow, "and the deil'll blaw it +about wi' his biggest bellowses." + +Tosh shivered, but Whamond shook him roughly, saying-- + +"Keep your oaths to yoursel', Rob Dow, and tell me, hae you seen Mr. +Dishart?" + +"I hinna," Rob answered curtly, preparing to drive on. + +"Nor the lassie they call the Egyptian?" + +Rob leaped from the dogcart, crying, "What does that mean?" + +"Hands off," said the precentor, retreating from him. "It means that +Mr. Dishart neglected the prayer-meeting this nicht to philander after +that heathen woman." + +"We're no sure o't, Tammas," remonstrated the kirk officer. Dow stood +quite still. "I believe Rob kens it's true," Hendry added sadly, "or +he would hae flown at your throat, Tammas Whamond, for saying these +words." + +Even this did not rouse Dow. + +"Rob doesna worship the minister as he used to do," said Spens. + +"And what for no?" cried the precentor. "Rob Dow, is it because you've +found out about this woman?" + +"You're a pack o' liars," roared Rob, desperately, "and if you say +again that ony wandering hussy has haud o' the minister, I'll let you +see whether I can loup at throats." + +"You'll swear by the Book," asked Whamond, relentlessly, "that you've +seen neither o' them this nicht, nor them thegither at any time?" + +"I so swear by the Book," answered poor loyal Rob. "But what makes you +look for Mr. Dishart here?" he demanded, with an uneasy look at the +light in the mudhouse. + +"Go hame," replied the precentor, "and deliver up the machine you +stole, and leave this Session to do its duty. John, we maun fathom the +meaning o' that licht." + +Dow started, and was probably at that moment within an ace of felling +Whamond. + +"I'll come wi' you," he said, hunting in his mind for a better way of +helping Gavin. + +They were at Nanny's garden, but in the darkness Whamond could not +find the gate. Rob climbed the paling, and was at once lost sight of. +Then they saw his head obscure the window. They did not, however, hear +the groan that startled Babbie. + +"There's nobody there," he said, coming back, "but Nanny and Sanders. +You'll mind Sanders was to be freed the day." + +"I'll go in and see Sanders," said Hendry, but the precentor pulled +him back, saying, "You'll do nothing o' the kind, Hendry Munn; you'll +come awa wi' me now to the manse." + +"It's mair than me and Peter'll do, then," said Spens, who had been +consulting with the other farmer. "We're gaun as straucht hame as the +darkness'll let us." + +With few more words the Session parted, Spens and Tosh setting off for +their farms, and Hendry accompanying the precentor. No one will ever +know where Dow went. I can fancy him, however, returning to the wood, +and there drawing rein. I can fancy his mind made up to watch the +mudhouse until Gavin and the gypsy separated, and then pounce upon +her. I daresay his whole plot could be condensed into a sentence, "If +she's got rid o' this nicht, we may cheat the Session yet." But this +is mere surmise. All I know is that he waited near Nanny's house, and +by and by heard another trap coming up Windyghoul. That was just +before the ten o'clock bell began to ring. + + + + +Chapter Thirty-Two. + +LEADING SWIFTLY TO THE APPALLING MARRIAGE. + + +The little minister bowed his head in assent when Babbie's cry, "Oh, +Gavin, do you?" leapt in front of her unselfish wish that he should +care for her no more. + +"But that matters very little now," he said. + +She was his to do with as he willed; and, perhaps, the joy of knowing +herself loved still, begot a wild hope that he would refuse to give +her up. If so, these words laid it low, but even the sentence they +passed upon her could not kill the self-respect that would be hers +henceforth. "That matters very little now," the man said, but to the +woman it seemed to matter more than anything else in the world. + +Throughout the remainder of this interview until the end came, Gavin +never faltered. His duty and hers lay so plainly before him that there +could be no straying from it. Did Babbie think him strangely calm? At +the Glen Quharity gathering I once saw Rob Angus lift a boulder with +such apparent ease that its weight was discredited, until the cry +arose that the effort had dislocated his arm. Perhaps Gavin's +quietness deceived the Egyptian similarly. Had he stamped, she might +have understood better what he suffered, standing there on the hot +embers of his passion. + +"We must try to make amends now," he said gravely, "for the wrong we +have done." + +"The wrong I have done," she said, correcting him. "You will make it +harder for me if you blame yourself. How vile I was in those days!" + +"Those days," she called them, they seemed so far away. + +"Do not cry, Babbie," Gavin replied, gently. "He knew what you were, +and why, and He pities you. 'For His anger endureth but a moment: in +His favor is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in +the morning.'" + +"Not to me." + +"Yes, to you," he answered. "Babbie, you will return to the Spittal +now, and tell Lord Rintoul everything." + +"If you wish it." + +"Not because I wish it, but because it is right. He must be told that +you do not love him." + +"I never pretended to him that I did," Babbie said, looking up. "Oh," +she added, with emphasis, "he knows that. He thinks me incapable of +caring for any one." + +"And that is why he must be told of me," Gavin replied. "You are no +longer the woman you were, Babbie, and you know it, and I know it, but +he does not know it. He shall know it before he decides whether he is +to marry you." + +Babbie looked at Gavin, and wondered he did not see that this decision +lay with him. + +"Nevertheless," she said, "the wedding will take place to-morrow; if +it did not, Lord Rintoul would be the scorn of his friends." + +"If it does," the minister answered, "he will be the scorn of himself. +Babbie, there is a chance." + +"There is no chance," she told him. "I shall be back at the Spittal +without any one's knowing of my absence, and when I begin to tell him +of you, he will tremble, lest it means my refusal to marry him; when +he knows it does not, he will wonder only why I told him anything." + +"He will ask you to take time----" + +"No, he will ask me to put on my wedding-dress. You must not think +anything else possible." + +"So be it, then," Gavin said firmly. + +"Yes, it will be better so," Babbie answered, and then, seeing him +misunderstand her meaning, exclaimed reproachfully, "I was not +thinking of myself. In the time to come, whatever be my lot, I shall +have the one consolation, that this is best for you. Think of your +mother." + +"She will love you," Gavin said, "when I tell her of you." + +"Yes," said Babbie, wringing her hands; "she will almost love me, but +for what? For not marrying you. That is the only reason any one in +Thrums will have for wishing me well." + +"No others," Gavin answered, "will ever know why I remained +unmarried." + +"Will you never marry?" Babbie asked, exultingly. "Ah!" she cried, +ashamed, "but you must." + +"Never." + +Well, many a man and many a woman has made that vow in similar +circumstances, and not all have kept it. But shall we who are old +smile cynically at the brief and burning passion of the young? "The +day," you say, "will come when--" Good sir, hold your peace. Their +agony was great and now is dead, and, maybe, they have forgotten where +it lies buried; but dare you answer lightly when I ask you which of +these things is saddest? + +Babbie believed his "Never," and, doubtless, thought no worse of him +for it; but she saw no way of comforting him save by disparagement of +herself. + +"You must think of your congregation," she said. "A minister with a +gypsy wife----" + +"Would have knocked them about with a flail," Gavin interposed, +showing his teeth at the thought of the precentor, "until they did her +reverence." + +She shook her head, and told him of her meeting with Micah Dow. It +silenced him; not, however, on account of its pathos, as she thought, +but because it interpreted the riddle of Rob's behavior. + +"Nevertheless," he said ultimately, "my duty is not to do what is +right in my people's eyes, but what seems right in my own." + +Babbie had not heard him. + +"I saw a face at the window just now," she whispered, drawing closer +to him. + +"There was no face there; the very thought of Rob Dow raises him +before you," Gavin answered reassuringly, though Rob was nearer at +that moment than either of them thought. + +"I must go away at once," she said, still with her eyes on the window. +"No, no, you shall not come or stay with me; it is you who are in +danger." + +"Do not fear for me." + +"I must, if you will not. Before you came in, did I not hear you speak +of a meeting you had to attend to-night?" + +"My pray--" His teeth met on the word; so abruptly did it conjure up +the forgotten prayer-meeting that before the shock could reach his +mind he stood motionless, listening for the bell. For one instant all +that had taken place since he last heard it might have happened +between two of its tinkles; Babbie passed from before him like a +figure in a panorama, and he saw, instead, a congregation in their +pews. + +"What do you see?" Babbie cried in alarm, for he seemed to be gazing +at the window. + +"Only you," he replied, himself again; "I am coming with you." + +"You must let me go alone," she entreated; "if not for your own +safety"--but it was only him she considered--"then for the sake of +Lord Rintoul. Were you and I to be seen together now, his name and +mine might suffer." + +It was an argument the minister could not answer save by putting his +hands over his face; his distress made Babbie strong; she moved to the +door, trying to smile. + +"Go, Babbie!" Gavin said, controlling his voice, though it had been a +smile more pitiful than her tears. "God has you in His keeping; it is +not His will to give me this to bear for you." + +They were now in the garden. + +"Do not think of me as unhappy," she said; "it will be happiness to me +to try to be all you would have me be." + +He ought to have corrected her. "All that God would have me be," is +what she should have said. But he only replied, "You will be a good +woman, and none such can be altogether unhappy; God sees to that." + +He might have kissed her, and perhaps she thought so. + +"I am--I am going now, dear," she said, and came back a step because +he did not answer; then she went on, and was out of his sight at three +yards' distance. Neither of them heard the approaching dogcart. + +"You see, I am bearing it quite cheerfully," she said. "I shall have +everything a woman loves; do not grieve for me so much." + +Gavin dared not speak nor move. Never had he found life so hard; but +he was fighting with the ignoble in himself, and winning. She opened +the gate, and it might have been a signal to the dogcart to stop. They +both heard a dog barking, and then the voice of Lord Rintoul: + +"That is a light in the window. Jump down, McKenzie, and inquire." + +Gavin took one step nearer Babbie and stopped. He did not see how all +her courage went from her, so that her knees yielded, and she held +out her arms to him, but he heard a great sob and then his name. + +"Gavin, I am afraid." + +Gavin understood now, and I say he would have been no man to leave her +after that; only a moment was allowed him, and it was their last +chance on earth. He took it. His arm went round his beloved, and he +drew her away from Nanny's. + +McKenzie found both house and garden empty. "And yet," he said, "I +swear some one passed the window as we sighted it." + +"Waste no more time," cried the impatient earl. "We must be very near +the hill now. You will have to lead the horse, McKenzie, in this +darkness; the dog may find the way through the broom for us." + +"The dog has run on," McKenzie replied, now in an evil temper. "Who +knows, it may be with her now? So we must feel our way cautiously; +there is no call for capsizing the trap in our haste." But there was +call for haste if they were to reach the gypsy encampment before Gavin +and Babbie were made man and wife over the tongs. + +The Spittal dogcart rocked as it dragged its way through the broom. +Rob Dow followed. The ten o'clock bell began to ring. + + + + +Chapter Thirty-Three. + +WHILE THE TEN O'CLOCK BELL WAS RINGING. + + _In the square and wynds--weavers in groups_: + + +"No, no, Davit, Mr. Dishart hadna felt the blow the piper gave him +till he ascended the pulpit to conduct the prayer-meeting for rain, +and then he fainted awa. Tammas Whamond and Peter Tosh carried him to +the Session-house. Ay, an awful scene." + +"How did the minister no come to the meeting? I wonder how you could +expect it, Snecky, and his mother taen so suddenly ill; he's at her +bedside, but the doctor has little hope." + +"This is what has occurred, Tailor: Mr. Dishart never got the length +of the pulpit. He fell in a swound on the vestry floor. What caused +it? Oh, nothing but the heat. Thrums is so dry that one spark would +set it in a blaze." + +"I canna get at the richts o' what keeped him frae the meeting, Femie, +but it had something to do wi' an Egyptian on the hill. Very like he +had been trying to stop the gypsy marriage there. I gaed to the manse +to speir at Jean what was wrang, but I'm thinking I telled her mair +than she could tell me." + +"Man, man, Andrew, the wite o't lies wi' Peter Tosh. He thocht we was +to hae sic a terrible rain that he implored the minister no to pray +for it, and so angry was Mr. Dishart that he ordered the whole Session +out o' the kirk. I saw them in Couthie's close, and michty dour they +looked." + +"Yes, as sure as death, Tammas Whamond locked the kirk-door in Mr. +Dishart's face." + +"I'm a' shaking! And small wonder, Marget, when I've heard this minute +that Mr. Dishart's been struck by lichtning while looking for Rob Dow. +He's no killed, but, woe's me! they say he'll never preach again." + +"Nothing o' the kind. It was Rob that the lichtning struck dead in the +doctor's machine. The horse wasna touched; it came tearing down the +Roods wi' the corpse sitting in the machine like a living man." + +"What are you listening to, woman? Is it to a dog barking? I've heard +it this while, but it's far awa." + + _In the manse kitchen_: + +"Jean, did you not hear me ring? I want you to--Why are you staring +out at the window, Jean?" + +"I--I was just hearkening to the ten o'clock bell, ma'am." + +"I never saw you doing nothing before! Put the heater in the fire, +Jean. I want to iron the minister's neckcloths. The prayer-meeting is +long in coming out, is it not?" + +"The--the drouth, ma'am, has been so cruel hard." + +"And, to my shame, I am so comfortable that I almost forgot how others +are suffering. But my son never forgets, Jean. You are not crying, are +you?" + +"No, ma'am." + +"Bring the iron to the parlor, then. And if the minis--Why did you +start, Jean? I only heard a dog barking." + +"I thocht, ma'am--at first I thocht it was Mr. Dishart opening the +door. Ay, it's just a dog; some gypsy dog on the hill, I'm thinking, +for sound would carry far the nicht." + +"Even you, Jean, are nervous at nights, I see, if there is no man in +the house. We shall hear no more distant dogs barking, I warrant, when +the minister comes home." + +"When he comes home, ma'am." + + _On the middle of a hill--a man and a woman_: + +"Courage, beloved; we are nearly there." + +"But, Gavin, I cannot see the encampment." + +"The night is too dark." + +"But the gypsy fires?" + +"They are in the Toad's-hole." + +"Listen to that dog barking." + +"There are several dogs at the encampment, Babbie." + +"There is one behind us. See, there it is!" + +"I have driven it away, dear. You are trembling." + +"What we are doing frightens me, Gavin. It is at your heels again!" + +"It seems to know you." + +"Oh, Gavin, it is Lord Rintoul's collie Snap. It will bite you." + +"No, I have driven it back again. Probably the earl is following us." + +"Gavin, I cannot go on with this." + +"Quicker, Babbie." + +"Leave me, dear, and save yourself." + +"Lean on me, Babbie." + +"Oh, Gavin, is there no way but this?" + +"No sure way." + +"Even though we are married to-night----" + +"We shall be married in five minutes, and then, whatever befall, he +cannot have you." + +"But after?" + +"I will take you straight to the manse, to my mother." + +"Were it not for that dog, I should think we were alone on the hill." + +"But we are not. See, there are the gypsy fires." + + _On the west side of the hill--two figures_: + +"Tammas, Tammas Whamond, I've lost you. Should we gang to the manse +down the fields?" + +"Wheesht, Hendry!" + +"What are you listening for?" + +"I heard a dog barking." + +"Only a gypsy dog, Tammas, barking at the coming storm." + +"The gypsy dogs are all tied up, and this one's atween us and the +Toad's-hole. What was that?" + +"It was nothing but the rubbing of the branches in the cemetery on ane +another. It's said, trees mak' that fearsome sound when they're +terrified." + +"It was a dog barking at somebody that's stoning it. I ken that sound, +Hendry Munn." + +"May I die the death, Tammas Whamond, if a great drap o' rain didna +strike me the now, and I swear it was warm. I'm for running hame." + +"I'm for seeing who drove awa that dog. Come back wi' me, Hendry." + +"I winna. There's no a soul on the hill but you and me and thae +daffing and drinking gypsies. How do you no answer me, Tammas? Hie, +Tammas Whamond, whaur are you? He's gone! Ay, then I'll mak' tracks +hame." + + _In the broom--a dogcart_: + +"Do you see nothing yet, McKenzie?" + +"Scarce the broom at my knees, Rintoul. There is not a light on the +hill." + +"McKenzie, can that schoolmaster have deceived us?" + +"It is probable." + +"Urge on the horse, however. There is a road through the broom, I +know. Have we stuck again?" + +"Rintoul, she is not here. I promised to help you to bring her back to +the Spittal before this escapade became known, but we have failed to +find her. If she is to be saved, it must be by herself. I daresay she +has returned already. Let me turn the horse's head. There is a storm +brewing." + +"I will search this gypsy encampment first, if it is on the hill. +Hark! that was a dog's bark. Yes, it is Snap; but he would not bark at +nothing. Why do you look behind you so often, McKenzie?" + +"For some time, Rintoul, it has seemed to me that we are being +followed. Listen!" + +"I hear nothing. At last, McKenzie, at last, we are out of the +broom." + +"And as I live, Rintoul, I see the gypsy lights!" + + * * * * * + +It might have been a lantern that was flashed across the hill. Then +all that part of the world went suddenly on fire. Everything was +horribly distinct in that white light. The firs of Caddam were so near +that it seemed to have arrested them in a silent march upon the hill. +The grass would not hide a pebble. The ground was scored with shadows +of men and things. Twice the light flickered and recovered itself. A +red serpent shot across it, and then again black night fell. + +The hill had been illumined thus for nearly half a minute. During that +time not even a dog stirred. The shadows of human beings lay on the +ground as motionless as logs. What had been revealed seemed less a +gypsy marriage than a picture. Or was it that during the ceremony +every person on the hill had been turned into stone? The gypsy king, +with his arm upraised, had not had time to let it fall. The men and +women behind him had their mouths open, as if struck when on the point +of calling out. Lord Rintoul had risen in the dogcart and was leaning +forward. One of McKenzie's feet was on the shaft. The man crouching +in the dogcart's wake had flung up his hands to protect his face. The +precentor, his neck outstretched, had a hand on each knee. All eyes +were fixed, as in the death glare, on Gavin and Babbie, who stood +before the king, their hands clasped over the tongs. Fear was +petrified on the woman's face, determination on the man's. + +They were all released by the crack of the thunder, but for another +moment none could have swaggered. + +"That was Lord Rintoul in the dogcart," Babbie whispered, drawing in +her breath. + +"Yes, dear," Gavin answered resolutely, "and now is the time for me to +have my first and last talk with him. Remain here, Babbie. Do not move +till I come back." + +"But, Gavin, he has seen. I fear him still." + +"He cannot touch you now, Babbie. You are my wife." + +In the vivid light Gavin had thought the dogcart much nearer than it +was. He called Lord Rintoul's name, but got no answer. There were +shouts behind, gypsies running from the coming rain, dogs whining, but +silence in front. The minister moved on some paces. Away to the left +he heard voices-- + +"Who was the man, McKenzie?" + +"My lord, I have lost sight of you. This is not the way to the camp." + +"Tell me, McKenzie, that you did not see what I saw." + +"Rintoul, I beseech you to turn back. We are too late." + +"We are not too late." + +Gavin broke through the darkness between them and him, but they were +gone. He called to them, and stopped to listen to their feet. + +"Is that you, Gavin?" Babbie asked just then. + +For reply, the man who had crept up to her clapped his hand upon her +mouth. Only the beginning of a scream escaped from her. A strong arm +drove her quickly southward. + +Gavin heard her cry, and ran back to the encampment. Babbie was gone. +None of the gypsies had seen her since the darkness came back. He +rushed hither and thither with a torch that only showed his distracted +face to others. He flung up his arms in appeal for another moment of +light; then he heard Babbie scream again, and this time it was from a +distance. He dashed after her; he heard a trap speeding down the green +sward through the broom. + +Lord Rintoul had kidnapped Babbie. Gavin had no other thought as he +ran after the dogcart from which the cry had come. The earl's dog +followed him, snapping at his heels. The rain began. + + + + +Chapter Thirty-Four. + +THE GREAT RAIN. + + +Gavin passed on through Windyghoul, thinking in his frenzy that he +still heard the trap. In a rain that came down like iron rods every +other sound was beaten dead. He slipped, and before he could regain +his feet the dog bit him. To protect himself from dikes and trees and +other horrors of the darkness he held his arm before him, but soon it +was driven to his side. Wet whips cut his brow so that he had to +protect it with his hands, until it had to bear the lash again, for +they would not. Now he had forced up his knees, and would have +succumbed but for a dread of being pinned to the earth. This fight +between the man and the rain went on all night, and long before it +ended the man was past the power of thinking. + +In the ringing of the ten o'clock bell Gavin had lived the seventh +part of a man's natural life. Only action was required of him. That +accomplished, his mind had begun to work again, when suddenly the loss +of Babbie stopped it, as we may put out a fire with a great coal. The +last thing he had reflected about was a dogcart in motion, and, +consequently, this idea clung to him. His church, his mother, were +lost knowledge of, but still he seemed to hear the trap in front. + +The rain increased in violence, appalling even those who heard it from +under cover. However rain may storm, though it be an army of archers +battering roofs and windows, it is only terrifying when the noise +swells every instant. In those hours of darkness it again and again +grew in force and doubled its fury, and was louder, louder, and +louder, until its next attack was to be more than men and women could +listen to. They held each other's hands and stood waiting. Then +abruptly it abated, and people could speak. I believe a rain that +became heavier every second for ten minutes would drive many listeners +mad. Gavin was in it on a night that tried us repeatedly for quite +half that time. + +By and by even the vision of Babbie in the dogcart was blotted out. If +nothing had taken its place, he would not have gone on probably; and +had he turned back objectless, his strength would have succumbed to +the rain. Now he saw Babbie and Rintoul being married by a minister +who was himself, and there was a fair company looking on, and always +when he was on the point of shouting to himself, whom he could see +clearly, that this woman was already married, the rain obscured his +words and the light went out. Presently the ceremony began again, +always to stop at the same point. He saw it in the lightning-flash +that had startled the hill. It gave him courage to fight his way +onward, because he thought he must be heard if he could draw nearer to +the company. + +A regiment of cavalry began to trouble him. He heard it advancing from +the Spittal, but was not dismayed, for it was, as yet, far distant. +The horsemen came thundering on, filling the whole glen of Quharity. +Now he knew that they had been sent out to ride him down. He paused in +dread, until they had swept past him. They came back to look for him, +riding more furiously than ever, and always missed him, yet his fears +of the next time were not lessened. They were only the rain. + +All through the night the dog followed him. He would forget it for a +time, and then it would be so close that he could see it dimly. He +never heard it bark, but it snapped at him, and a grin had become the +expression of its face. He stoned it, he even flung himself at it, he +addressed it in caressing tones, and always with the result that it +disappeared, to come back presently. + +He found himself walking in a lake, and now even the instinct of +self-preservation must have been flickering, for he waded on, +rejoicing merely in getting rid of the dog. Something in the water +rose and struck him. Instead of stupefying him, the blow brought him +to his senses, and he struggled for his life. The ground slipped +beneath his feet many times, but at last he was out of the water. That +he was out in a flood he did not realize; yet he now acted like one in +full possession of his faculties. When his feet sank in water, he drew +back; and many times he sought shelter behind banks and rocks, first +testing their firmness with his hands. Once a torrent of stones, +earth, and heather carried him down a hillside until he struck against +a tree. He twined his arms round it, and had just done so when it fell +with him. After that, when he touched trees growing in water, he fled +from them, thus probably saving himself from death. + +What he heard now might have been the roll and crack of the thunder. +It sounded in his ear like nothing else. But it was really something +that swept down the hill in roaring spouts of water, and it passed on +both sides of him so that at one moment, had he paused, it would have +crashed into him, and at another he was only saved by stopping. He +felt that the struggle in the dark was to go on till the crack of +doom. + +Then he cast himself upon the ground. It moved beneath him like some +great animal, and he rose and stole away from it. Several times did +this happen. The stones against which his feet struck seemed to +acquire life from his touch. So strong had he become, or so weak all +other things, that whatever clump he laid hands on by which to pull +himself out of the water was at once rooted up. + +The daylight would not come. He longed passionately for it. He tried +to remember what it was like, and could not; he had been blind so +long. It was away in front somewhere, and he was struggling to +overtake it. He expected to see it from a dark place, when he would +rush forward to bathe his arms in it, and then the elements that were +searching the world for him would see him and he would perish. But +death did not seem too great a penalty to pay for light. + +And at last day did come back, gray and drear. He saw suddenly once +more. I think he must have been wandering the glen with his eyes shut, +as one does shut them involuntarily against the hidden dangers of +black night. How different was daylight from what he had expected! He +looked, and then shut his dazed eyes again, for the darkness was less +horrible than the day. Had he indeed seen, or only dreamed that he +saw? Once more he looked to see what the world was like; and the sight +that met his eyes was so mournful that he who had fought through the +long night now sank hopeless and helpless among the heather. The dog +was not far away, and it, too, lost heart. Gavin held out his hand, +and Snap crept timidly toward him. He unloosened his coat, and the dog +nestled against him, cowed and shivering, hiding its head from the +day. Thus they lay, and the rain beat upon them. + + + + +Chapter Thirty-Five. + +THE GLEN AT BREAK OF DAY. + + +My first intimation that the burns were in flood came from Waster +Lunny, close on the strike of ten o'clock. This was some minutes +before they had any rain in Thrums. I was in the school-house, now +piecing together the puzzle Lord Rintoul had left with me, and anon +starting upright as McKenzie's hand seemed to tighten on my arm. +Waster Lunny had been whistling to me (with his fingers in his mouth) +for some time before I heard him and hurried out. I was surprised and +pleased, knowing no better, to be met on the threshold by a whisk of +rain. + +The night was not then so dark but that when I reached the Quharity I +could see the farmer take shape on the other side of it. He wanted me +to exult with him, I thought, in the end of the drought, and I shouted +that I would fling him the stilts. + +"It's yoursel' that wants them," he answered excitedly, "if you're +fleid to be left alone in the school-house the nicht. Do you hear me, +dominie? There has been frichtsome rain among the hills, and the Bog +burn is coming down like a sea. It has carried awa the miller's brig, +and the steading o' Muckle Pirley is standing three feet in water." + +"You're dreaming, man," I roared back, but beside his news he held my +doubts of no account. + +"The Retery's in flood," he went on, "and running wild through Hazel +Wood; T'nowdunnie's tattie field's out o' sicht, and at the Kirkton +they're fleid they've lost twa kye." + +"There has been no rain here," I stammered, incredulously. + +"It's coming now," he replied. "And listen: the story's out that the +Backbone has fallen into the loch. You had better cross, dominie, and +thole out the nicht wi' us." + +The Backbone was a piece of mountain-side overhanging a loch among the +hills, and legend said that it would one day fall forward and squirt +all the water into the glen. Something of the kind had happened, but I +did not believe it then; with little wit I pointed to the shallow +Quharity. + +"It may come down at any minute," the farmer answered, "and syne, mind +you, you'll be five miles frae Waster Lunny, for there'll be no +crossing but by the Brig o' March. If you winna come, I maun awa back. +I mauna bide langer on the wrang side o' the Moss ditch, though it has +been as dry this month back as a rabbit's roady. But if you--" His +voice changed. "God's sake, man," he cried, "you're ower late. Look at +that! Dinna look--run, run!" + +If I had not run before he bade me, I might never have run again on +earth. I had seen a great shadowy yellow river come riding down the +Quharity. I sprang from it for my life; and when next I looked behind, +it was upon a turbulent loch, the further bank lost in darkness. I was +about to shout to Waster Lunny, when a monster rose in the torrent +between me and the spot where he had stood. It frightened me to +silence until it fell, when I knew it was but a tree that had been +flung on end by the flood. For a time there was no answer to my cries, +and I thought the farmer had been swept away. Then I heard his +whistle, and back I ran recklessly through the thickening darkness to +the school-house. When I saw the tree rise, I had been on ground +hardly wet as yet with the rain; but by the time Waster Lunny sent +that reassuring whistle to me I was ankle-deep in water, and the rain +was coming down like hail. I saw no lightning. + +For the rest of the night I was only out once, when I succeeded in +reaching the hen-house and brought all my fowls safely to the kitchen, +except a hen which would not rise off her young. Between us we had the +kitchen floor, a pool of water; and the rain had put out my fires +already, as effectually as if it had been an overturned broth-pot. +That I never took off my clothes that night I need not say, though of +what was happening in the glen I could only guess. A flutter against +my window now and again, when the rain had abated, told me of another +bird that had flown there to die; and with Waster Lunny, I kept up +communication by waving a light, to which he replied in a similar +manner. Before morning, however, he ceased to answer my signals, and I +feared some catastrophe had occurred at the farm. As it turned out, +the family was fighting with the flood for the year's shearing of +wool, half of which eventually went down the waters, with the +wool-shed on top of it. + +The school-house stands too high to fear any flood, but there were +moments when I thought the rain would master it. Not only the windows +and the roof were rattling then, but all the walls, and I was like one +in a great drum. When the rain was doing its utmost, I heard no other +sound; but when the lull came, there was the wash of a heavy river, or +a crack as of artillery that told of landslips, or the plaintive cry +of the peesweep as it rose in the air, trying to entice the waters +away from its nest. + +It was a dreary scene that met my gaze at break of day. Already the +Quharity had risen six feet, and in many parts of the glen it was two +hundred yards wide. Waster Lunny's cornfield looked like a bog grown +over with rushes, and what had been his turnips had become a lake with +small islands in it. No dike stood whole except one that the farmer, +unaided, had built in a straight line from the road to the top of +Mount Bare, and my own, the further end of which dipped in water. Of +the plot of firs planted fifty years earlier to help on Waster Lunny's +crops, only a triangle had withstood the night. + +Even with the aid of my field-glass I could not estimate the damage on +more distant farms, for the rain, though now thin and soft, as it +continued for six days, was still heavy and of a brown color. After +breakfast--which was interrupted by my bantam cock's twice spilling my +milk--I saw Waster Lunny and his son, Matthew, running towards the +shepherd's house with ropes in their hands. The house, I thought, must +be in the midst beyond; and then I sickened, knowing all at once that +it should be on this side of the mist. When I had nerve to look again, +I saw that though the roof had fallen in, the shepherd was astride one +of the walls, from which he was dragged presently through the water by +the help of the ropes. I remember noticing that he returned to his +house with the rope still about him, and concluded that he had gone +back to save some of his furniture. I was wrong, however. There was +too much to be done at the farm to allow this, but Waster Lunny had +consented to Duncan's forcing his way back to the shieling to stop the +clock. To both men it seemed horrible to let a clock go on ticking in +a deserted house. + +Having seen this rescue accomplished, I was letting my glass roam in +the opposite direction, when one of its shakes brought into view +something on my own side of the river. I looked at it long, and saw it +move slightly. Was it a human being? No, it was a dog. No, it was a +dog and something else. I hurried out to see more clearly, and after a +first glance the glass shook so in my hands that I had to rest it on +the dike. For a full minute, I daresay, did I look through the glass +without blinking, and then I needed to look no more. That black patch +was, indeed, Gavin. + +He lay quite near the school-house, but I had to make a circuit of +half a mile to reach him. It was pitiful to see the dog doing its best +to come to me, and falling every few steps. The poor brute was +discolored almost beyond recognition; and when at last it reached me, +it lay down at my feet and licked them. I stepped over it and ran on +recklessly to Gavin. At first I thought he was dead. If tears rolled +down my cheeks, they were not for him. + +I was no strong man even in those days, but I carried him to the +school-house, the dog crawling after us. Gavin I put upon my bed, and +I lay down beside him, holding him close to me, that some of the heat +of my body might be taken in by his. When he was able to look at me, +however, it was not with understanding, and in vain did my anxiety +press him with questions. Only now and again would some word in my +speech strike upon his brain and produce at least an echo. To "Did you +meet Lord Rintoul's dogcart?" he sat up, saying quickly: + +"Listen, the dogcart!" + +"Egyptian" was not that forenoon among the words he knew, and I did +not think of mentioning "hill." At "rain" he shivered; but "Spittal" +was what told me most. + +"He has taken her back," he replied at once, from which I learned that +Gavin now knew as much of Babbie as I did. + +I made him as comfortable as possible, and despairing of learning +anything from him in his present state, I let him sleep. Then I went +out into the rain, very anxious, and dreading what he might have to +tell me when he woke. I waded and jumped my way as near to the farm as +I dared go, and Waster Lunny, seeing me, came to the water's edge. At +this part the breadth of the flood was not forty yards, yet for a +time our voices could no more cross its roar than one may send a +snowball through a stone wall. I know not whether the river then +quieted for a space, or if it was only that the ears grow used to dins +as the eyes distinguish the objects in a room that is at first black +to them; but after a little we were able to shout our remarks across, +much as boys fling pebbles, many to fall into the water, but one +occasionally to reach the other side. Waster Lunny would have talked +of the flood, but I had not come here for that. + +"How were you home so early from the prayer-meeting last night?" I +bawled. + +"No meeting ... I came straucht hame ... but terrible stories ... Mr. +Dishart," was all I caught after Waster Lunny had flung his words +across a dozen times. + +I could not decide whether it would be wise to tell him that Gavin was +in the school-house, and while I hesitated he continued to shout: + +"Some woman ... the Session ... Lang Tammas ... God forbid ... maun +back to the farm ... byre running like a mill-dam." + +He signed to me that he must be off, but my signals delayed him, and +after much trouble he got my question, "Any news about Lord Rintoul?" +My curiosity about the earl must have surprised him, but he answered: + +"Marriage is to be the day ... cannon." + +I signed that I did not grasp his meaning. + +"A cannon is to be fired as soon as they're man and wife," he +bellowed. "We'll hear it." + +With that we parted. On my way home, I remember, I stepped on a brood +of drowned partridge. I was only out half an hour, but I had to wring +my clothes as if they were fresh from the tub. + +The day wore on, and I did not disturb the sleeper. A dozen times, I +suppose, I had to relight my fire of wet peats and roots; but I had +plenty of time to stare out at the window, plenty of time to think. +Probably Gavin's life depended on his sleeping, but that was not what +kept my hands off him. Knowing so little of what had happened in +Thrums since I left it, I was forced to guess, and my conclusion was +that the earl had gone off with his own, and that Gavin in a frenzy +had followed them. My wisest course, I thought, was to let him sleep +until I heard the cannon, when his struggle for a wife must end. Fifty +times at least did I stand regarding him as he slept; and if I did not +pity his plight sufficiently, you know the reason. What were +Margaret's sufferings at this moment? Was she wringing her hands for +her son lost in the flood, her son in disgrace with the congregation? +By one o'clock no cannon had sounded, and my suspense had become +intolerable. I shook Gavin awake, and even as I shook him demanded a +knowledge of all that had happened since we parted at Nanny's gate. + +"How long ago is that?" he asked, with bewilderment. + +"It was last night," I answered. "This morning I found you senseless +on the hillside, and brought you here, to the Glen Quharity +school-house. That dog was with you." + +He looked at the dog, but I kept my eyes on him, and I saw intelligence +creep back, like a blush, into his face. + +"Now I remember," he said, shuddering. "You have proved yourself my +friend, sir, twice in the four and twenty hours." + +"Only once, I fear," I replied gloomily. "I was no friend when I sent +you to the earl's bride last night." + +"You know who she is?" he cried, clutching me, and finding it agony to +move his limbs. + +"I know now," I said, and had to tell him how I knew before he would +answer another question. Then I became listener, and you who read know +to what alarming story. + +"And all that time," I cried reproachfully, when he had done, "you +gave your mother not a thought." + +"Not a thought," he answered; and I saw that he pronounced a harsher +sentence on himself than could have come from me. "All that time!" he +repeated, after a moment. "It was only a few minutes, while the ten +o'clock bell was ringing." + +"Only a few minutes," I said, "but they changed the channel of the +Quharity, and perhaps they have done not less to you." + +"That may be," he answered gravely, "but it is of the present I must +think just now. Mr. Ogilvy, what assurance have I, while lying here +helpless, that the marriage at the Spittal is not going on?" + +"None, I hope," I said to myself, and listened longingly for the +cannon. But to him I only pointed out that no woman need go through a +form of marriage against her will. + +"Rintoul carried her off with no possible purport," he said, "but to +set my marriage at defiance, and she has had a conviction always that +to marry me would be to ruin me. It was only in the shiver Lord +Rintoul's voice in the darkness sent through her that she yielded to +my wishes. If she thought that marriage last night could be annulled +by another to-day, she would consent to the second, I believe, to save +me from the effects of the first. You are incredulous, sir; but you do +not know of what sacrifices love is capable." + +Something of that I knew, but I did not tell him. I had seen from his +manner rather than his words that he doubted the validity of the gypsy +marriage, which the king had only consented to celebrate because +Babbie was herself an Egyptian. The ceremony had been interrupted in +the middle. + +"It was no marriage," I said, with a confidence I was far from +feeling. + +"In the sight of God," he replied excitedly, "we took each other for +man and wife." + +I had to hold him down in bed. + +"You are too weak to stand, man," I said, "and yet you think you could +start off this minute for the Spittal." + +"I must go," he cried. "She is my wife. That impious marriage may have +taken place already." + +"Oh, that it had!" was my prayer. "It has not," I said to him. "A +cannon is to be fired immediately after the ceremony, and all the glen +will hear it." + +I spoke on the impulse, thinking to allay his desire to be off; but he +said, "Then I may yet be in time." Somewhat cruelly I let him rise, +that he might realize his weakness. Every bone in him cried out at his +first step, and he sank into a chair. + +"You will go to the Spittal for me?" he implored. + +"I will not," I told him. "You are asking me to fling away my life." + +To prove my words I opened the door, and he saw what the flood was +doing. Nevertheless, he rose and tottered several times across the +room, trying to revive his strength. Though every bit of him was +aching, I saw that he would make the attempt. + +"Listen to me," I said. "Lord Rintoul can maintain with some reason +that it was you rather than he who abducted Babbie. Nevertheless, +there will not, I am convinced, be any marriage at the Spittal to-day. +When he carried her off from the Toad's-hole, he acted under impulses +not dissimilar to those that took you to it. Then, I doubt not, he +thought possession was all the law, but that scene on the hill has +staggered him by this morning. Even though she thinks to save you by +marrying him, he will defer his wedding until he learns the import of +yours." + +I did not believe in my own reasoning, but I would have said anything +to detain him until that cannon was fired. He seemed to read my +purpose, for he pushed my arguments from him with his hands, and +continued to walk painfully to and fro. + +"To defer the wedding," he said, "would be to tell all his friends of +her gypsy origin, and of me. He will risk much to avoid that." + +"In any case," I answered, "you must now give some thought to those +you have forgotten, your mother and your church." + +"That must come afterwards," he said firmly. "My first duty is to my +wife." + +The door swung to sharply just then, and he started. He thought it was +the cannon. + +"I wish to God it had been!" I cried, interpreting his thoughts. + +"Why do you wish me ill?" he asked. + +"Mr. Dishart," I said solemnly, rising and facing him, and disregarding +his question, "if that woman is to be your wife, it will be at a cost +you cannot estimate till you return to Thrums. Do you think that if +your congregation knew of this gypsy marriage they would have you +for their minister for another day? Do you enjoy the prospect of +taking one who might be an earl's wife into poverty--ay, and +disgraceful poverty? Do you know your mother so little as to think she +could survive your shame? Let me warn you, sir, of what I see. I see +another minister in the Auld Licht kirk, I see you and your wife +stoned through our wynds, stoned from Thrums, as malefactors have been +chased out of it ere now; and as certainly as I see these things I +see a hearse standing at the manse door, and stern men denying a son's +right to help to carry his mother's coffin to it. Go your way, sir; +but first count the cost." + +His face quivered before these blows, but all he said was, "I must +dree my dreed." + +"God is merciful," I went on, "and these things need not be. He is +more merciful to you, sir, than to some, for the storm that He sent to +save you is ruining them. And yet the farmers are to-day thanking Him +for every pound of wool, every blade of corn He has left them, while +you turn from Him because He would save you, not in your way, but in +His. It was His hand that stayed your marriage. He meant Babbie for +the earl; and if it is on her part a loveless match, she only suffers +for her own sins. Of that scene on the hill no one in Thrums, or in +the glen, need ever know. Rintoul will see to it that the gypsies +vanish from these parts forever, and you may be sure the Spittal will +soon be shut up. He and McKenzie have as much reason as yourself to be +silent. You, sir, must go back to your congregation, who have heard as +yet only vague rumors that your presence will dispel. Even your mother +will remain ignorant of what has happened. Your absence from the +prayer-meeting you can leave to me to explain." + +He was so silent that I thought him mine, but his first words +undeceived me. + +"I thought I had nowhere so keen a friend," he said; "but, Mr. Ogilvy, +it is devil's work you are pleading. Am I to return to my people to +act a living lie before them to the end of my days? Do you really +think that God devastated a glen to give me a chance of becoming a +villain? No, sir, I am in His hands, and I will do what I think +right." + +"You will be dishonored," I said, "in the sight of God and man." + +"Not in God's sight," he replied. "It was a sinless marriage, Mr. +Ogilvy, and I do not regret it. God ordained that she and I should +love each other, and He put it into my power to save her from that +man. I took her as my wife before Him, and in His eyes I am her +husband. Knowing that, sir, how could I return to Thrums without +her?" + +I had no answer ready for him. I knew that in my grief for Margaret I +had been advocating an unworthy course, but I would not say so. I went +gloomily to the door, and there, presently, his hand fell on my +shoulder. + +"Your advice came too late, at any rate," he said. "You forget that +the precentor was on the hill and saw everything." + +It was he who had forgotten to tell me this, and to me it was the most +direful news of all. + +"My God!" I cried. "He will have gone to your mother and told her." +And straightway I began to lace my boots. + +"Where are you going?" he asked, staring at me. + +"To Thrums," I answered harshly. + +"You said that to venture out into the glen was to court death," he +reminded me. + +"What of that?" I said, and hastily put on my coat. + +"Mr. Ogilvy," he cried, "I will not allow you to do this for me." + +"For you?" I said bitterly. "It is not for you." + +I would have gone at once, but he got in front of me, asking, "Did you +ever know my mother?" + +"Long ago," I answered shortly, and he said no more, thinking, I +suppose, that he knew all. He limped to the door with me, and I had +only advanced a few steps when I understood better than before what +were the dangers I was to venture into. Since I spoke to Waster Lunny +the river had risen several feet, and even the hillocks in his +turnip-field were now submerged. The mist was creeping down the hills. +But what warned me most sharply that the flood was not satisfied yet +was the top of the school-house dike; it was lined with field-mice. I +turned back, and Gavin, mistaking my meaning, said I did wisely. + +"I have not changed my mind," I told him, and then had some difficulty +in continuing. "I expect," I said, "to reach Thrums safely, even +though I should be caught in the mist, but I shall have to go round +by the Kelpie brig in order to get across the river, and it is +possible that--that something may befall me." + +I have all my life been something of a coward, and my voice shook when +I said this, so that Gavin again entreated me to remain at the +school-house, saying that if I did not he would accompany me. + +"And so increase my danger tenfold?" I pointed out. "No, no, Mr. +Dishart, I go alone; and if I can do nothing with the congregation, I +can at least send your mother word that you still live. But if +anything should happen to me, I want you----" + +But I could not say what I had come back to say. I had meant to ask +him, in the event of my death, to take a hundred pounds which were the +savings of my life; but now I saw that this might lead to Margaret's +hearing of me, and so I stayed my words. It was bitter to me this, and +yet, after all, a little thing when put beside the rest. + +"Good-by, Mr. Dishart," I said abruptly. I then looked at my desk, +which contained some trifles that were once Margaret's. "Should +anything happen to me," I said, "I want that old desk to be destroyed +unopened." + +"Mr. Ogilvy," he answered gently, "you are venturing this because you +loved my mother. If anything does befall you, be assured that I will +tell her what you attempted for her sake." + +I believe he thought it was to make some such request that I had +turned back. + +"You must tell her nothing about me," I exclaimed, in consternation. +"Swear that my name will never cross your lips before her. No, that is +not enough. You must forget me utterly, whether I live or die, lest +some time you should think of me and she should read your thoughts. +Swear, man!" + +"Must this be?" he said, gazing at me. + +"Yes," I answered more calmly, "it must be. For nearly a score of +years I have been blotted out of your mother's life, and since she +came to Thrums my one care has been to keep my existence from her. I +have changed my burying-ground even from Thrums to the glen, lest I +should die before her, and she, seeing the hearse go by the Tenements, +might ask, 'Whose funeral is this?'" + +In my anxiety to warn him, I had said too much. His face grew haggard, +and there was fear to speak on it; and I saw, I knew, that some +damnable suspicion of Margaret---- + +"She was my wife!" I cried sharply. "We were married by the minister +of Harvie. You are my son." + + + + +Chapter Thirty-Six. + +STORY OF THE DOMINIE. + + +When I spoke next, I was back in the school-house, sitting there with +my bonnet on my head, Gavin looking at me. We had forgotten the cannon +at last. + +In that chair I had anticipated this scene more than once of late. I +had seen that a time might come when Gavin would have to be told all, +and I had even said the words aloud, as if he were indeed opposite me. +So now I was only repeating the tale, and I could tell it without +emotion, because it was nigh nineteen years old; and I did not look at +Gavin, for I knew that his manner of taking it could bring no change +to me. + +"Did you never ask your mother," I said, addressing the fire rather +than him, "why you were called Gavin?" + +"Yes," he answered, "it was because she thought Gavin a prettier name +than Adam." + +"No," I said slowly, "it was because Gavin is my name. You were called +after your father. Do you not remember my taking you one day to the +shore at Harvie to see the fishermen carried to their boats upon their +wives' backs, that they might start dry on their journey?" + +"No," he had to reply. "I remember the women carrying the men through +the water to the boats, but I thought it was my father who--I +mean----" + +"I know whom you mean," I said. "That was our last day together, but +you were not three years old. Yet you remembered me when you came to +Thrums. You shake your head, but it is true. Between the diets of +worship that first Sabbath I was introduced to you, and you must have +had some shadowy recollection of my face, for you asked, 'Surely I saw +you in church in the forenoon, Mr. Ogilvy?' I said 'Yes,' but I had +not been in the church in the forenoon. You have forgotten even that, +and yet I treasured it." + +I could hear that he was growing impatient, though so far he had been +more indulgent than I had any right to expect. + +"It can all be put into a sentence," I said calmly. "Margaret married +Adam Dishart, and afterwards, believing herself a widow, she married +me. You were born, and then Adam Dishart came back." + +That is my whole story, and here was I telling it to my son, and not a +tear between us. It ended abruptly, and I fell to mending the fire. + +"When I knew your mother first," I went on, after Gavin had said some +boyish things that were of no avail to me, "I did not think to end my +days as a dominie. I was a student at Aberdeen, with the ministry in +my eye, and sometimes on Saturdays I walked forty miles to Harvie to +go to church with her. She had another lover, Adam Dishart, a sailor +turned fisherman; and while I lingered at corners, wondering if I +could dare to meet her and her mother on their way to church, he would +walk past with them. He was accompanied always by a lanky black dog, +which he had brought from a foreign country. He never signed for any +ship without first getting permission to take it with him, and in +Harvie they said it did not know the language of the native dogs. I +have never known a man and dog so attached to each other." + +"I remember that black dog," Gavin said. "I have spoken of it to my +mother, and she shuddered, as if it had once bitten her." + +"While Adam strutted by with them," I continued, "I would hang back, +raging at his assurance or my own timidity; but I lost my next chance +in the same way. In Margaret's presence something came over me, a kind +of dryness in the throat, that made me dumb. I have known divinity +students stricken in the same way, just as they were giving out their +first text. It is no aid in getting a kirk or wooing a woman. + +"If any one in Harvie recalls me now, it is as a hobbledehoy who +strode along the cliffs, shouting Homer at the sea-mews. With all my +learning, I, who gave Margaret the name of Lalage, understood women +less than any fisherman who bandied words with them across a boat. I +remember a Yule night when both Adam and I were at her mother's +cottage, and, as we were leaving, he had the audacity to kiss +Margaret. She ran out of the room, and Adam swaggered off, and when I +recovered from my horror, I apologized for what he had done. I shall +never forget how her mother looked at me, and said, 'Ay, Gavin, I see +they dinna teach everything at Aberdeen.' You will not believe it, but +I walked away doubting her meaning. I thought more of scholarship then +than I do now. Adam Dishart taught me its proper place. + +"Well, that is the dull man I was; and yet, though Adam was always +saying and doing the things I was making up my mind to say and do, I +think Margaret cared more for me. Nevertheless, there was something +about him that all women seemed to find lovable, a dash that made them +send him away and then well-nigh run after him. At any rate, I could +have got her after her mother's death if I had been half a man. But I +went back to Aberdeen to write a poem about her, and while I was at it +Adam married her." + +I opened my desk and took from it a yellow manuscript. + +"Here," I said, "is the poem. You see, I never finished it." + +I was fingering the thing grimly when Gavin's eye fell on something +else in the desk. It was an ungainly clasp-knife, as rusty as if it +had spent a winter beneath a hedge. + +"I seem to remember that knife," he said. + +"Yes," I answered, "you should remember it. Well, after three months +Adam tired of his wife." + +I stopped again. This was a story in which only the pauses were +eloquent. + +"Perhaps I have no right to say he tired of her. One day, however, he +sauntered away from Harvie whistling, his dog at his heels as ever, +and was not seen again for nearly six years. When I heard of his +disappearance I packed my books in that kist and went to Harvie, where +I opened a school. You see, every one but Margaret believed that Adam +had fallen over the cliffs and been drowned." + +"But the dog?" said Gavin. + +"We were all sure that, if he had fallen over, it had jumped after +him. The fisher-folk said that he could have left his shadow behind as +easily as it. Yet Margaret thought for long that he had tired of +Harvie merely and gone back to sea, and not until two years had passed +would she marry me. We lived in Adam's house. It was so near the +little school that when I opened the window in summer-time she could +hear the drone of our voices. During the weeks before you were born I +kept that window open all day long, and often I went to it and waved +my hand to her. + +"Sometimes, when she was washing or baking, I brought you to the +school. The only quarrel she and I ever had was about my teaching you +the Lord's Prayer in Greek as soon as you could say father and mother. +It was to be a surprise for her on your second birthday. On that day, +while she was ironing, you took hold of her gown to steady yourself, +and began, '~Pater emon ho en tois ouranois~' and to me, behind the +door, it was music. But at ~agiastheto~, of which you made two +syllables, you cried, and Margaret snatched you up, thinking this was +some new ailment. After I had explained to her that it was the Lord's +Prayer in Greek, she would let me take you to the school-house no +more. + +"Not much longer could I have taken you in any case, for already we +are at the day when Adam Dishart came back. It was the 7th of +September, and all the week most of the women in Harvie had been +setting off at dawn to the harvest fields and straggling home at +nights, merry and with yellow corn in their hair. I had sat on in the +school-house that day after my pupils were gone. I still meant to be a +minister, and I was studying Hebrew, and so absorbed in my book that +as the daylight went, I followed it step by step as far as my window, +and there I read, without knowing, until I chanced to look up, that I +had left my desk. I have not opened that book since. + +"From the window I saw you on the waste ground that separated the +school from our home. You were coming to me on your hands and feet, +and stopping now and again to look back at your mother, who was at the +door, laughing and shaking her fist at you. I beckoned to you, and +took the book back to my desk to lock it up. While my head was inside +the desk I heard the school-house door pushed open, and thinking it +was you I smiled, without looking up. Then something touched my hand, +and I still thought it was you; but I looked down, and I saw Adam +Dishart's black dog. + +"I did not move. It looked up at me and wagged its tail. Then it drew +back--I suppose because I had no words for it. I watched it run +half-round the room and stop and look at me again. Then it slunk out. + +"All that time one of my hands had been holding the desk open. Now the +lid fell. I put on my bonnet and went to the door. You were only a few +yards away, with flowers in your fist. Margaret was laughing still. I +walked round the school and there was no dog visible. Margaret nodded +to me, meaning that I should bring you home. You thrust the flowers +into my hand, but they fell. I stood there, dazed. + +"I think I walked with you some way across the waste ground. Then I +dropped your hand and strode back to the school. I went down on my +knees, looking for marks of a dog's paws, and I found them. + +"When I came out again your mother was no longer at our door, and you +were crying because I had left you. I passed you and walked straight +to the house. Margaret was skinning rushes for wicks. There must have +been fear in my face, for as soon as she saw it she ran to the door to +see if you were still alive. She brought you in with her, and so had +strength to cry, 'What is it? Speak!' + +"'Come away,' I said, 'come away,' and I was drawing her to the door, +but she pressed me into a chair. I was up again at once. + +"'Margaret,' I said, 'ask no questions. Put on your bonnet, give me +the boy, and let us away.' + +"I could not take my eyes off the door, and she was walking to it to +look out when I barred the way with my arm. + +"'What have you seen?' she cried; and then, as I only pointed to her +bonnet, she turned to you, and you said, 'Was it the black dog, +father?' + +"Gavin, then she knew; and I stood helpless and watched my wife grow +old. In that moment she lost the sprightliness I loved the more +because I had none of it myself, and the bloom went from her face +never to return. + +"'He has come back,' she said. + +"I told her what I had seen, and while I spoke she put on her bonnet, +and I exulted, thinking--and then she took off her bonnet, and I knew +she would not go away with me. + +"'Margaret,' I cried, 'I am that bairn's father.' + +"'Adam's my man,' she said, and at that I gave her a look for which +God might have struck me dead. But instead of blaming me she put her +arms round my neck. + +"After that we said very little. We sat at opposite sides of the fire, +waiting for him, and you played on the floor. The harvesters trooped +by, and there was a fiddle; and when it stopped, long stillness, and +then a step. It was not Adam. You fell asleep, and we could hear +nothing but the sea. There was a harvest moon. + +"Once a dog ran past the door, and we both rose. Margaret pressed her +hands on her breast. Sometimes she looked furtively at me, and I knew +her thoughts. To me it was only misery that had come, but to her it +was shame, so that when you woke and climbed into her lap she shivered +at your touch. I could not look at her after that, for there was a +horror of me growing in her face. + +"Ten o'clock struck, and then again there was no sound but the sea +pouring itself out on the beach. It was long after this, when to me +there was still no other sound, that Margaret screamed, and you hid +behind her. Then I heard it. + +"'Gavin,' Margaret said to me, 'be a good man all your life.' + +"It was louder now, and then it stopped. Above the wash of the sea we +heard another sound--a sharp tap, tap. You said, 'I know what sound +that is; it's a man knocking the ashes out of his pipe against his +boot.' + +"Then the dog pushed the door off the latch, and Adam lurched in. He +was not drunk, but he brought the smell of drink into the room with +him. He was grinning like one bringing rare news, and before she could +shrink back or I could strike him he had Margaret in his arms. + +"'Lord, lass,' he said, with many jovial oaths, 'to think I'm back +again! There, she's swounded. What folks be women, to be sure.' + +"'We thought you were dead, Adam," she said, coming to. + +"'Bless your blue eyes,' he answered gleefully; 'often I says to +myself, "Meggy will be thinking I'm with the fishes," and then I +chuckles.' + +"'Where have you been all this time?' I demanded sternly. + +"'Gavin,' he said effusively, 'your hand. And don't look so feared, +man; I bear no malice for what you've done. I heard all about it at +the Cross Anchors.' + +"'Where have you been these five years and a half?' I repeated. + +"'Where have I no been, lad?' he replied. + +"'At Harvie,' I said. + +"'Right you are,' said he good-naturedly. 'Meggie, I had no intention +of leaving you that day, though I was yawning myself to death in +Harvie; but I sees a whaler, and I thinks, "That's a tidy boat, and +I'm a tidy man, and if they'll take me and the dog, off we go."' + +"'You never wrote to me,' Margaret said. + +"'I meant to send you some scrapes,' he answered, 'but it wasna till I +changed ships that I had the chance, and then I minds, "Meggy kens I'm +no hand with the pen." But I swear I often thought of you, lass; and +look you here, that's better than letters, and so is this and every +penny of it is yours.' + +"He flung two bags of gold upon the table, and the chink brought you +out from behind your mother. + +"'Hallo!' Adam cried. + +"'He is mine,' I said. 'Gavin, come here.' But Margaret held you +back. + +"'Here's a go,' Adam muttered, and scratched his head. Then he slapped +his thigh. 'Gavin,' he said, in his friendliest way, 'we'll toss for +him.' + +"He pulled the knife that is now in my desk from his pocket, spat on +it, and flung it up. 'Dry, the kid's ours, Meggy,' he explained; 'wet, +he goes to Gavin.' I clinched my fist to----But what was the use? He +caught the knife, and showed it to me. + +"'Dry,' he said triumphantly; 'so he is ours, Meggy. Kiddy, catch the +knife. It is yours; and, mind, you have changed dads. And now that we +have settled that, Gavin, there's my hand again.' + +"I went away and left them, and I never saw Margaret again until the +day you brought her to Thrums. But I saw you once, a few days after +Adam came back. I was in the school-house, packing my books, and you +were playing on the waste ground. I asked you how your mother was, and +you said, 'She's fleid to come to the door till you gang awa, and my +father's buying a boat.' + +"'I'm your father,' I said; but you answered confidently: + +"'You're no a living man. You're just a man I dreamed about; and I +promised my mother no to dream about you again.' + +"'I am your father,' I repeated. + +"'My father's awa buying a fishing-boat,' you insisted; 'and when I +speir at my mother whaur my first father is, she says I'm havering.' + +"'Gavin Ogilvy is your name,' I said. 'No,' you answered, 'I have a +new name. My mother telled me my name is aye to be Gavin Dishart now. +She telled me, too, to fling awa this knife my father gave me, and +I've flung it awa a lot o' times, but I aye pick it up again.' + +"'Give it to me,' I said, with the wicked thoughts of a fool in my +head. + +"That is how your knife came into my possession. I left Harvie that +night in the carrier's cart, but I had not the heart to return to +college. Accident brought me here, and I thought it a fitting place in +which to bury myself from Margaret." + + + + +Chapter Thirty-Seven. + +SECOND JOURNEY OF THE DOMINIE TO THRUMS DURING THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. + + +Here was a nauseous draught for me. Having finished my tale, I turned +to Gavin for sympathy; and, behold, he had been listening for the +cannon instead of to my final words. So, like an old woman at her +hearth, we warm our hands at our sorrows and drop in faggots, and each +thinks his own fire a sun, in presence of which all other fires should +go out. I was soured to see Gavin prove this, and then I could have +laughed without mirth, for had not my bitterness proved it too? + +"And now," I said, rising, "whether Margaret is to hold up her head +henceforth lies no longer with me, but with you." + +It was not to that he replied. + +"You have suffered long, Mr. Ogilvy," he said. "Father," he added, +wringing my hand. I called him son; but it was only an exchange of +musty words that we had found too late. A father is a poor estate to +come into at two and twenty. + +"I should have been told of this," he said. + +"Your mother did right, sir," I answered slowly, but he shook his +head. + +"I think you have misjudged her," he said. "Doubtless while my fa--, +while Adam Dishart lived, she could only think of you with pain; but +after his death----" + +"After his death," I said quietly, "I was still so horrible to her +that she left Harvie without letting a soul know whither she was +bound. She dreaded my following her." + +"Stranger to me," he said, after a pause, "than even your story is her +being able to keep it from me. I believed no thought ever crossed her +mind that she did not let me share." + +"And none, I am sure, ever did," I answered, "save that, and such +thoughts as a woman has with God only. It was my lot to bring disgrace +on her. She thought it nothing less, and she has hidden it all these +years for your sake, until now it is not burdensome. I suppose she +feels that God has taken the weight off her. Now you are to put a +heavier burden in its place." + +He faced me boldly, and I admire him for it now. + +"I cannot admit," he said, "that I did wrong in forgetting my mother +for that fateful quarter of an hour. Babbie and I loved each other, +and I was given the opportunity of making her mine or losing her +forever. Have you forgotten that all this tragedy you have told me of +only grew out of your own indecision? I took the chance that you let +slip by." + +"I had not forgotten," I replied. "What else made me tell you last +night that Babbie was in Nanny's house?" + +"But now you are afraid--now when the deed is done, when for me there +can be no turning back. Whatever be the issue, I should be a cur to +return to Thrums without my wife. Every minute I feel my strength +returning, and before you reach Thrums I will have set out to the +Spittal." + +There was nothing to say after that. He came with me in the rain as +far as the dike, warning me against telling his people what was not +true. + +"My first part," I answered, "will be to send word to your mother that +you are in safety. After that I must see Whamond. Much depends on +him." + +"You will not go to my mother?" + +"Not so long as she has a roof over her head," I said, "but that may +not be for long." + +So, I think, we parted--each soon to forget the other in a woman. + +But I had not gone far when I heard something that stopped me as +sharply as if it had been McKenzie's hand once more on my shoulder. +For a second the noise appalled me, and then, before the echo began, I +knew it must be the Spittal cannon. My only thought was one of +thankfulness. Now Gavin must see the wisdom of my reasoning. I would +wait for him until he was able to come with me to Thrums. I turned +back, and in my haste I ran through water I had gone round before. + +I was too late. He was gone, and into the rain I shouted his name in +vain. That he had started for the Spittal there could be no doubt; +that he would ever reach it was less certain. The earl's collie was +still crouching by the fire, and, thinking it might be a guide to him, +I drove the brute to the door, and chased it in the direction he +probably had taken. Not until it had run from me did I resume my own +journey. I do not need to be told that you who read would follow Gavin +now rather than me; but you must bear with the dominie for a little +while yet, as I see no other way of making things clear. + +In some ways I was not ill-equipped for my attempt. I do not know any +one of our hillsides as it is known to the shepherd, to whom every +rabbit-hole and glimmer of mica is a landmark; but he, like his flock, +has only to cross a dike to find himself in a strange land, while I +have been everywhere in the glen. + +In the foreground the rain slanted, transparent till it reached the +ground, where a mist seemed to blow it along as wind ruffles grass. In +the distance all was a driving mist. I have been out for perhaps an +hour in rains as wetting, and I have watched floods from my window, +but never since have I known the fifth part of a season's rainfall in +eighteen hours; and if there should be the like here again, we shall +be found better prepared for it. Men have been lost in the glen in +mists so thick that they could plunge their fingers out of sight in it +as into a meal girnel; but this mist never came within twenty yards of +me. I was surrounded by it, however, as if I was in a round tent; and +out of this tent I could not walk, for it advanced with me. On the +other side of this screen were horrible noises, at whose cause I could +only guess, save now and again when a tongue of water was shot at my +feet, or great stones came crashing through the canvas of mist. Then I +ran wherever safety prompted, and thus tangled my bearings until I was +like that one in the child's game who is blindfolded and turned round +three times that he may not know east from west. + +Once I stumbled over a dead sheep and a living lamb; and in a clump of +trees which puzzled me--for they were where I thought no trees should +be--a wood-pigeon flew to me, but struck my breast with such force +that I picked it up dead. I saw no other living thing, though half a +dozen times I must have passed within cry of farmhouses. At one time I +was in a cornfield, where I had to lift my hands to keep them out of +water, and a dread filled me that I had wandered in a circle, and was +still on Waster Lunny's land. I plucked some corn and held it to my +eyes to see if it was green; but it was yellow, and so I knew that at +last I was out of the glen. + +People up here will complain if I do not tell how I found the farmer +of Green Brae's fifty pounds. It is one of the best-remembered +incidents of the flood, and happened shortly after I got out of the +cornfield. A house rose suddenly before me, and I was hastening to it +when as suddenly three of its walls fell. Before my mind could give a +meaning to what my eyes told it, the water that had brought down the +house had lifted me off my feet and flung me among waves. That would +have been the last of the dominie had I not struck against a chest, +then halfway on its voyage to the sea. I think the lid gave way under +me; but that is surmise, for from the time the house fell till I was +on the river in a kist that was like to be my coffin, is almost a +blank. After what may have been but a short journey, though I had time +in it to say my prayers twice, we stopped, jammed among fallen trees; +and seeing a bank within reach, I tried to creep up it. In this there +would have been little difficulty had not the contents of the kist +caught in my feet and held on to them, like living things afraid of +being left behind. I let down my hands to disentangle my feet, but +failed; and then, grown desperate, I succeeded in reaching firm +ground, dragging I knew not what after me. It proved to be a +pillow-slip. Green Brae still shudders when I tell him that my first +impulse was to leave the pillow-slip unopened. However, I ripped it +up, for to undo the wet strings that had ravelled round my feet would +have wearied even a man with a needle to pick open the knots; and +among broken gimlets, the head of a grape, and other things no beggar +would have stolen, I found a tin canister containing fifty pounds. +Waster Lunny says that this should have made a religious man of Green +Brae, and it did to this extent, that he called the fall of the +cotter's house providential. Otherwise the cotter, at whose expense it +may be said the money was found, remains the more religious man of the +two. + +At last I came to the Kelpie's brig, and I could have wept in joy (and +might have been better employed), when, like everything I saw on that +journey, it broke suddenly through the mist, and seemed to run at me +like a living monster. Next moment I ran back, for as I stepped upon +the bridge I saw that I had been about to walk into the air. What was +left of the Kelpie's brig ended in mid-stream. Instead of thanking God +for the light without which I should have gone abruptly to my death, I +sat down miserable and hopeless. + +Presently I was up and trudging to the Loups of Malcolm. At the Loups +the river runs narrow and deep between cliffs, and the spot is so +called because one Malcolm jumped across it when pursued by wolves. +Next day he returned boastfully to look at his jump, and gazing at it +turned dizzy and fell into the river. Since that time chains have been +hung across the Loups to reduce the distance between the farms of +Carwhimple and Keep-What-You-Can from a mile to a hundred yards. You +must cross the chains on your breast. They were suspended there by Rob +Angus, who was also the first to breast them. + +But I never was a Rob Angus. When my pupils practise what they call +the high jump, two small boys hold a string aloft, and the bigger ones +run at it gallantly until they reach it, when they stop meekly and +creep beneath. They will repeat this twenty times, and yet never, when +they start for the string, seem to know where their courage will fail. +Nay, they will even order the small boys to hold the string higher. I +have smiled at this, but it was the same courage while the difficulty +is far off that took me to the Loups. At sight of them I turned away. + +I prayed to God for a little of the mettle of other men, and He heard +me, for with my eyes shut I seemed to see Margaret beckoning from +across the abyss as if she had need of me. Then I rose calmly and +tested the chains, and crossed them on my breast. Many have done it +with the same danger, at which they laugh, but without that vision I +should have held back. + +I was now across the river, and so had left the chance of drowning +behind, but I was farther from Thrums than when I left the school-house, +and this countryside was almost unknown to me. The mist had begun to +clear, so that I no longer wandered into fields; but though I kept to the +roads, I could not tell that they led toward Thrums, and in my +exhaustion I had often to stand still. Then to make a new start in the +mud was like pulling stakes out of the ground. So long as the rain +faced me I thought I could not be straying far; but after an hour I lost +this guide, for a wind rose that blew it in all directions. + +In another hour, when I should have been drawing near Thrums, I found +myself in a wood, and here I think my distress was greatest; nor is +this to be marvelled at, for instead of being near Thrums, I was +listening to the monotonous roar of the sea. I was too spent to +reason, but I knew that I must have travelled direct east, and must be +close to the German Ocean. I remember putting my back against a tree +and shutting my eyes, and listening to the lash of the waves against +the beach, and hearing the faint toll of a bell, and wondering +listlessly on what lighthouse it was ringing. Doubtless I would have +lain down to sleep forever had I not heard another sound near at hand. +It was the knock of a hammer on wood, and might have been a fisherman +mending his boat. The instinct of self-preservation carried me to it, +and presently I was at a little house. A man was standing in the rain, +hammering new hinges to the door; and though I did not recognize him, +I saw with bewilderment that the woman at his side was Nanny. + +"It's the dominie," she cried, and her brother added: + +"Losh, sir, you hinna the look o' a living man." + +"Nanny," I said, in perplexity, "what are you doing here?" + +"Whaur else should I be?" she asked. + +I pressed my hands over my eyes, crying, "Where am I?" + +Nanny shrank from me, but Sanders said, "Has the rain driven you gyte, +man? You're in Thrums." + +"But the sea," I said, distrusting him. "I hear it. Listen!" + +"That's the wind in Windyghoul," Sanders answered, looking at me +queerly. "Come awa into the house." + + + + +Chapter Thirty-Eight. + +THRUMS DURING THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS--DEFENCE OF THE MANSE. + + +Hardly had I crossed the threshold of the mudhouse when such a +sickness came over me that I could not have looked up, though Nanny's +voice had suddenly changed to Margaret's. Vaguely I knew that Nanny +had put the kettle on the fire--a woman's first thought when there is +illness in the house--and as I sat with my hands over my face I heard +the water dripping from my clothes to the floor. + +"Why is that bell ringing?" I asked at last, ignoring all questions +and speaking through my fingers. An artist, I suppose, could paint all +expression out of a human face. The sickness was having that effect on +my voice. + +"It's the Auld Licht bell," Sanders said; "and it's almost as fearsome +to listen to as last nicht's rain. I wish I kent what they're ringing +it for." + +"Wish no sic things," said Nanny nervously. "There's things it's best +to put off kenning as lang as we can." + +"It's that ill-cleakit witch, Effie McBean, that makes Nanny speak so +doleful," Sanders told me. "There was to be a prayer-meeting last +nicht, but Mr. Dishart never came to 't, though they rang till they +wraxed their arms; and now Effie says it'll ring on by itsel' till +he's brocht hame a corp. The hellicat says the rain's a dispensation +to drown him in for neglect o' duty. Sal, I would think little o' the +Lord if He needed to create a new sea to drown one man in. Nanny, yon +cuttie, that's no swearing; I defy you to find a single lonely oath in +what I've said." + +"Never mind Effie McBean," I interposed. "What are the congregation +saying about the minister's absence?" + +"We ken little except what Effie telled us," Nanny answered. "I was at +Tilliedrum yestreen, meeting Sanders as he got out o' the gaol, and +that awfu onding began when we was on the Bellies Braes. We focht our +way through it, but not a soul did we meet; and wha would gang out the +day that can bide at hame? Ay, but Effie says it's kent in Thrums that +Mr. Dishart has run off wi'--wi' an Egyptian." + +"You're waur than her, Nanny," Sanders said roughly, "for you hae twa +reasons for kenning better. In the first place, has Mr. Dishart no +keeped you in siller a' the time I was awa? and for another, have I no +been at the manse?" + +My head rose now. + +"He gaed to the manse," Nanny explained, "to thank Mr. Dishart for +being so good to me. Ay, but Jean wouldna let him in. I'm thinking +that looks gey gray." + +"Whatever was her reason," Sanders admitted, "Jean wouldna open the +door; but I keeked in at the parlor window, and saw Mrs. Dishart in't +looking very cosy-like and lauching; and do you think I would hae seen +that if ill had come ower the minister?" + +"Not if Margaret knew of it," I said to myself, and wondered at +Whamond's forbearance. + +"She had a skein o' worsted stretched out on her hands," Sanders +continued, "and a young leddy was winding it. I didna see her richt, +but she wasna a Thrums leddy." + +"Effie McBean says she's his intended, come to call him to account," +Nanny said; but I hardly listened, for I saw that I must hurry to +Tammas Whamond's. Nanny followed me to the gate with her gown pulled +over her head, and said excitedly: + +"Oh, dominie, I warrant it's true. It'll be Babbie. Sanders doesna +suspect, because I've telled him nothing about her. Oh, what's to be +done? They were baith so good to me." + +I could only tell her to keep what she knew to herself. + +"Has Rob Dow come back?" I called out after I had started. + +"Whaur frae?" she replied; and then I remembered that all these things +had happened while Nanny was at Tilliedrum. In this life some of the +seven ages are spread over two decades, and others pass as quickly as +a stage play. Though a fifth of a season's rain had fallen in a night +and a day, it had scarcely kept pace with Gavin. + +I hurried to the town by the Roods. That brae was as deserted as the +country roads, except where children had escaped from their mothers to +wade in it. Here and there dams were keeping the water away from one +door to send it with greater volume to another, and at points the +ground had fallen in. But this I noticed without interest. I did not +even realize that I was holding my head painfully to the side where it +had been blown by the wind and glued by the rain. I have never held my +head straight since that journey. + +Only a few looms were going, their pedals in water. I was addressed +from several doors and windows, once by Charles Yuill. + +"Dinna pretend," he said, "that you've walked in frae the school-house +alane. The rain chased me into this house yestreen, and here it has +keeped me, though I bide no further awa than Tillyloss." + +"Charles," I said in a low voice, "why is the Auld Licht bell +ringing?" + +"Hae you no heard about Mr. Dishart?" he asked. "Oh, man! that's Lang +Tammas in the kirk by himsel', tearing at the bell to bring the folk +thegither to depose the minister." + +Instead of going to Whamond's house in the school wynd I hastened down +the Banker's close to the kirk, and had almost to turn back, so choked +was the close with floating refuse. I could see the bell swaying, but +the kirk was locked, and I battered on the door to no purpose. Then, +remembering that Hendry Munn lived in Coutt's trance, I set off for +his house. He saw me crossing the square, but would not open his door +until I was close to it. + +"When I open," he cried, "squeeze through quick"; but though I did his +bidding, a rush of water darted in before me. Hendry reclosed the door +by flinging himself against it. + +"When I saw you crossing the square," he said, "it was surprise enough +to cure the hiccup." + +"Hendry," I replied instantly, "why is the Auld Licht bell ringing?" + +He put his finger to his lip. "I see," he said imperturbably, "you've +met our folk in the glen and heard frae them about the minister." + +"What folk?" + +"Mair than half the congregation," he replied, "I started for Glen +Quharity twa hours syne to help the farmers. You didna see them?" + +"No; they must have been on the other side of the river." Again that +question forced my lips, "Why is the bell ringing?" + +"Canny, dominie," he said, "till we're up the stair. Mysy Moncur's +lug's at her keyhole listening to you." + +"You lie, Hendry Munn," cried an invisible woman. The voice became +more plaintive: "I ken a heap, Hendry, so you may as well tell me +a'." + +"Lick away at the bone you hae," the shoemaker replied heartlessly, +and conducted me to his room up one of the few inside stairs then in +Thrums. Hendry's oddest furniture was five boxes, fixed to the wall +at such a height that children could climb into them from a high +stool. In these his bairns slept, and so space was economized. I could +never laugh at the arrangement, as I knew that Betty had planned it on +her deathbed for her man's sake. Five little heads bobbed up in their +beds as I entered, but more vexing to me was Wearyworld on a stool. + +"In by, dominie," he said sociably. "Sal, you needna fear burning wi' +a' that water on you. You're in mair danger o' coming a-boil." + +"I want to speak to you alone, Hendry," I said bluntly. + +"You winna put me out, Hendry?" the alarmed policeman entreated. +"Mind, you said in sic weather you would be friendly to a brute beast. +Ay, ay, dominie, what's your news? It's welcome, be it good or bad. +You would meet the townsfolk in the glen, and they would tell you +about Mr. Dishart. What, you hinna heard? Oh, sirs, he's a lost man. +There would hae been a meeting the day to depose him if so many hadna +gaen to the glen. But the morn'll do as weel. The very women is +cursing him, and the laddies has begun to gather stanes. He's married +on an Egyp----" + +"Hendry!" I cried, like one giving an order. + +"Wearyworld, step!" said Hendry sternly, and then added soft-heartedly: +"Here's a bit news that'll open Mysy Moncur's door to you. You can +tell her frae me that the bell's ringing just because I forgot to tie it +up last nicht, and the wind's shaking it, and I winna gang out in the +rain to stop it." + +"Ay," the policeman said, looking at me sulkily, "she may open her +door for that, but it'll no let me in. Tell me mair. Tell me wha the +leddy at the manse is." + +"Out you go," answered Hendry. "Once she opens the door, you can shove +your foot in, and syne she's in your power." He pushed Wearyworld out, +and came back to me, saying, "It was best to tell him the truth, to +keep him frae making up lies." + +"But is it the truth? I was told Lang Tammas----" + +"Ay, I ken that story; but Tammas has other work on hand." + +"Then tie up the bell at once, Hendry," I urged. + +"I canna," he answered gravely. "Tammas took the keys o' the kirk fram +me yestreen, and winna gie them up. He says the bell's being rung by +the hand o' God." + +"Has he been at the manse? Does Mrs. Dishart know----?" + +"He's been at the manse twa or three times, but Jean barred him out. +She'll let nobody in till the minister comes back, and so the mistress +kens nothing. But what's the use o' keeping it frae her ony langer?" + +"Every use," I said. + +"None," answered Hendry sadly. "Dominie, the minister was married to +the Egyptian on the hill last nicht, and Tammas was witness. Not only +were they married, but they've run aff thegither." + +"You are wrong, Hendry," I assured him, telling as much as I dared. "I +left Mr. Dishart in my house." + +"What! But if that is so, how did he no come back wi' you?" + +"Because he was nearly drowned in the flood." + +"She'll be wi' him?" + +"He was alone." + +Hendry's face lit up dimly with joy, and then he shook his head. +"Tammas was witness," he said. "Can you deny the marriage?" + +"All I ask of you," I answered guardedly, "is to suspend judgment +until the minister returns." + +"There can be nothing done, at ony rate," he said, "till the folk +themsel's come back frae the glen; and I needna tell you how glad we +would a' be to be as fond o' him as ever. But Tammas was witness." + +"Have pity on his mother, man." + +"We've done the best for her we could," he replied. "We prigged wi' +Tammas no to gang to the manse till we was sure the minister was +living. 'For if he has been drowned,' we said, 'his mother need never +ken what we were thinking o' doing.' Ay, and we're sorry for the young +leddy, too." + +"What young lady is this you all talk of?" I asked. + +"She's his intended. Ay, you needna start. She has come a' the road +frae Glasgow to challenge him about the gypsy. The pitiful thing is +that Mrs. Dishart lauched awa her fears, and now they're baith waiting +for his return, as happy as ignorance can make them." + +"There is no such lady," I said. + +"But there is," he answered doggedly, "for she came in a machine late +last nicht, and I was ane o' a dozen that baith heard and saw it +through my window. It stopped at the manse near half an hour. What's +mair, the lady hersel' was at Sam'l Farquharson's in the Tenements the +day for twa hours." + +I listened in bewilderment and fear. + +"Sam'l's bairn's down wi' scarlet fever and like to die, and him being +a widow-man he has gone useless. You mauna blame the wives in the +Tenements for hauding back. They're fleid to smit their ain litlins; +and as it happens, Sam'l's friends is a' aff to the glen. Weel, he ran +greeting to the manse for Mr. Dishart, and the lady heard him crying +to Jean through the door, and what does she do but gang straucht to +the Tenements wi' Sam'l. Her goodness has naturally put the folk on +her side against the minister." + +"This does not prove her his intended," I broke in. + +"She was heard saying to Sam'l," answered the kirk officer, "that the +minister being awa, it was her duty to take his place. Yes, and though +she little kent it, he was already married." + +"Hendry," I said, rising, "I must see this lady at once. Is she still +at Farquharson's house?" + +"She may be back again by this time. Tammas set off for Sam'l's as +soon as he heard she was there, but he just missed her. I left him +there an hour syne. He was waiting for her, determined to tell her +all." + +I set off for the Tenements at once, declining Hendry's company. The +wind had fallen, so that the bell no longer rang, but the rain was +falling doggedly. The streets were still deserted. I pushed open the +precentor's door in the school wynd, but there was no one in the +house. Tibbie Birse saw me, and shouted from her door: + +"Hae you heard o' Mr. Dishart? He'll never daur show face in Thrums +again." + +Without giving her a word I hastened to the Tenements. + +"The leddy's no here," Sam'l Farquharson told me, "and Tammas is back +at the manse again, trying to force his way in." + +From Sam'l, too, I turned, with no more than a groan; but he cried +after me, "Perdition on the man that has played that leddy false." + +Had Margaret been at her window she must have seen me, so recklessly +did I hurry up the minister's road, with nothing in me but a passion +to take Whamond by the throat. He was not in the garden. The kitchen +door was open. Jean was standing at it with her apron to her eyes. + +"Tammas Whamond?" I demanded, and my face completed the question. + +"You're ower late," she wailed. "He's wi' her. Oh, dominie, whaur's +the minister?" + +"You base woman!" I cried, "why did you unbar the door?" + +[Illustration: "IT WAS BABBIE, THOUGH NO LONGER IN A GYPSY'S DRESS."] + +"It was the mistress," she answered. "She heard him shaking it, and I +had to tell her wha it was. Dominie, it's a' my wite! He tried to get +in last nicht, and roared threats through the door, and after he had +gone awa she speired wha I had been speaking to. I had to tell her, +but I said he had come to let her ken that the minister was taking +shelter frae the rain in a farmhouse. Ay, I said he was to bide there +till the flood gaed down, and that's how she has been easy a' day. I +acted for the best, but I'm sair punished now; for when she heard +Tammas at the door twa or three minutes syne, she ordered me to let +him in, so that she could thank him for bringing the news last nicht, +despite the rain. They're in the parlor. Oh, dominie, gang in and stop +his mouth." + +This was hard. I dared not go to the parlor. Margaret might have died +at sight of me. I turned my face from Jean. + +"Jean," said some one, opening the inner kitchen door, "why did +you----?" + +She stopped, and that was what turned me round. As she spoke I thought +it was the young lady; when I looked I saw it was Babbie, though no +longer in a gypsy's dress. Then I knew that the young lady and Babbie +were one. + + + + +Chapter Thirty-Nine. + +HOW BABBIE SPENT THE NIGHT OF AUGUST FOURTH. + + +How had the Egyptian been spirited here from the Spittal? I did not +ask the question. To interest myself in Babbie at that dire hour of +Margaret's life would have been as impossible to me as to sit down to +a book. To others, however, it is only an old woman on whom the parlor +door of the manse has closed, only a garrulous dominie that is in pain +outside it. Your eyes are on the young wife. + +When Babbie was plucked off the hill, she thought as little as Gavin +that her captor was Rob Dow. Close as he was to her, he was but a +shadow until she screamed the second time, when he pressed her to the +ground and tied his neckerchief over her mouth. Then, in the moment +that power of utterance was taken from her, she saw the face that had +startled her at Nanny's window. Half-carried, she was borne forward +rapidly, until some one seemed to rise out of the broom and strike +them both. They had only run against the doctor's trap; and huddling +her into it, Dow jumped up beside her. He tied her hands together with +a cord. For a time the horse feared the darkness in front more than +the lash behind; but when the rains became terrific, it rushed ahead +wildly--probably with its eyes shut. + +In three minutes Babbie went through all the degrees of fear. In the +first she thought Lord Rintoul had kidnapped her; but no sooner had +her captor resolved himself into Dow, drunk with the events of the +day and night, than in the earl's hands would have lain safety. Next, +Dow was forgotten in the dread of a sudden death which he must share. +And lastly, the rain seemed to be driving all other horrors back, that +it might have her for its own. Her perils increased to the unbearable +as quickly as an iron in the fire passes through the various stages +between warmth and white heat. Then she had to do something; and as +she could not cry out, she flung herself from the dogcart. She fell +heavily in Caddam Wood, but the rain would not let her lie there +stunned. It beat her back to consciousness, and she sat up on her +knees and listened breathlessly, staring in the direction the trap had +taken, as if her eyes could help her ears. + +All night, I have said, the rain poured, but those charges only rode +down the deluge at intervals, as now and again one wave greater than +the others stalks over the sea. In the first lull it appeared to +Babbie that the storm had swept by, leaving her to Dow. Now she heard +the rubbing of the branches, and felt the torn leaves falling on her +gown. She rose to feel her way out of the wood with her bound hands, +then sank in terror, for some one had called her name. Next moment she +was up again, for the voice was Gavin's, who was hurrying after her, +as he thought, down Windyghoul. He was no farther away than a whisper +might have carried on a still night, but she dared not pursue him, for +already Dow was coming back. She could not see him, but she heard the +horse whinny and the rocking of the dogcart. Dow was now at the +brute's head, and probably it tried to bite him, for he struck it, +crying: + +"Would you? Stand still till I find her.... I heard her move this +minute." + +Babbie crouched upon a big stone and sat motionless while he groped +for her. Her breathing might have been tied now, as well as her mouth. +She heard him feeling for her, first with his feet and then with his +hands, and swearing when his head struck against a tree. + +"I ken you're within hearing," he muttered, "and I'll hae you yet. I +have a gully-knife in my hand. Listen!" + +He severed a whin-stalk with the knife, and Babbie seemed to see the +gleam of the blade. + +"What do I mean by wanting to kill you?" he said, as if she had asked +the question. "Do you no ken wha said to me, 'Kill this woman?' It was +the Lord. 'I winna kill her,' I said, 'but I'll cart her out o' the +country.' 'Kill her,' says He; 'why encumbereth she the ground?'" + +He resumed his search, but with new tactics. "I see you now," he would +cry, and rush forward perhaps within a yard of her. Then she must have +screamed had she had the power. When he tied that neckerchief round +her mouth he prolonged her life. + +Then came the second hurricane of rain, so appalling that had Babbie's +hands been free she would have pressed them to her ears. For a full +minute she forgot Dow's presence. A living thing touched her face. The +horse had found her. She recoiled from it, but its frightened head +pressed heavily on her shoulder. She rose and tried to steal away, but +the brute followed, and as the rain suddenly exhausted itself she +heard the dragging of the dogcart. She had to halt. + +Again she heard Dow's voice. Perhaps he had been speaking throughout +the roar of the rain. If so, it must have made him deaf to his own +words. He groped for the horse's head, and presently his hand touched +Babbie's dress, then jumped from it, so suddenly had he found her. No +sound escaped him, and she was beginning to think it possible that he +had mistaken her for a bush when his hand went over her face. He was +making sure of his discovery. + +"The Lord has delivered you into my hands," he said in a low voice, +with some awe in it. Then he pulled her to the ground, and, sitting +down beside her, rocked himself backward and forward, his hands round +his knees. She would have bartered the world for power to speak to +him. + +"He wouldna hear o' my just carting you to some other countryside," he +said confidentially. "'The devil would just blaw her back again,' says +He, 'therefore kill her.' 'And if I kill her,' I says, 'they'll hang +me.' 'You can hang yoursel',' says He. 'What wi'?' I speirs. 'Wi' the +reins o' the dogcart,' says He. 'They would break,' says I. 'Weel, +weel,' says He, 'though they do hang you, nobody'll miss you.' 'That's +true,' says I, 'and You are a just God.'" + +He stood up and confronted her. + +"Prisoner at the bar," he said, "hae ye onything to say why sentence +of death shouldna be pronounced against you? She doesna answer. She +kens death is her deserts." + +By this time he had forgotten probably why his victim was dumb. + +"Prisoner at the bar, hand back to me the soul o' Gavin Dishart. You +winna? Did the devil, your master, summon you to him and say, 'Either +that noble man or me maun leave Thrums?' He did. And did you, or did +you no, drag that minister, when under your spell, to the hill, and +there marry him ower the tongs? You did. Witnesses, Rob Dow and Tammas +Whamond." + +She was moving from him on her knees, meaning when out of arm's reach +to make a dash for life. + +"Sit down," he grumbled, "or how can you expect a fair trial? Prisoner +at the bar, you have been found guilty of witchcraft." + +For the first time his voice faltered. + +"That's the difficulty, for witches canna die, except by burning or +drowning. There's no blood in you for my knife, and your neck wouldna +twist. Your master has brocht the rain to put out a' the fires, and +we'll hae to wait till it runs into a pool deep enough to drown you. + +"I wonder at You, God. Do You believe her master'll mak' the pool for +her? He'll rather stop his rain. Mr. Dishart said You was mair +powerful than the devil, but it doesna look like it. If You had the +power, how did You no stop this woman working her will on the +minister? You kent what she was doing, for You ken a' things. Mr. +Dishart says You ken a' things. If You do, the mair shame to You. +Would a shepherd, that could help it, let dogs worry his sheep? Kill +her! It's fine to cry 'Kill her,' but whaur's the bonfire, whaur's the +pool? You that made the heaven and the earth and all that in them is, +can You no set fire to some wet whins, or change this stane into a +mill-dam?" + +He struck the stone with his fist, and then gave a cry of exultation. +He raised the great slab in his arms and flung it from him. In +that moment Babbie might have run away, but she fainted. Almost +simultaneously with Dow she knew this was the stone which covered the +Caddam well. When she came to, Dow was speaking, and his voice had +become solemn. + +"You said your master was mair powerful than mine, and I said it too, +and all the time you was sitting here wi' the very pool aneath you +that I have been praying for. Listen!" + +He dropped a stone into the well, and she heard it strike the water. + +"What are you shaking at?" he said in reproof. "Was it no yoursel' +that chose the spot? Lassie, say your prayers. Are you saying them?" + +He put his hand over her face, to feel if her lips were moving, and +tore off the neckerchief. + +And then again the rain came between them. In that rain one could not +think. Babbie did not know that she had bitten through the string that +tied her hands. She planned no escape. But she flung herself at the +place where Dow had been standing. He was no longer there, and she +fell heavily, and was on her feet again in an instant and running +recklessly. Trees intercepted her, and she thought they were Dow, and +wrestled with them. By and by she fell into Windyghoul, and there she +crouched until all her senses were restored to her, when she +remembered that she had been married lately. + +How long Dow was in discovering that she had escaped, and whether he +searched for her, no one knows. After a time he jumped into the +dogcart again, and drove aimlessly through the rain. That wild journey +probably lasted two hours, and came to an abrupt end only when a tree +fell upon the trap. The horse galloped off, but one of Dow's legs was +beneath the tree, and there he had to lie helpless, for though the leg +was little injured, he could not extricate himself. A night and day +passed, and he believed that he must die; but even in this plight he +did not forget the man he loved. He found a piece of slate, and in the +darkness cut these words on it with his knife: + + "Me being about to die, I solemnly swear I didna see the minister + marrying an Egyptian on the hill this nicht. May I burn in Hell if + this is no true. + + (Signed) "ROB DOW." + +This document he put in his pocket, and so preserved proof of what he +was perjuring himself to deny. + + + + +Chapter Forty. + +BABBIE AND MARGARET--DEFENCE OF THE MANSE CONTINUED. + + +The Egyptian was mournful in Windyghoul, up which she had once danced +and sung; but you must not think that she still feared Dow. I felt +McKenzie's clutch on my arm for hours after he left me, but she was +far braver than I; indeed, dangers at which I should have shut my eyes +only made hers gleam, and I suppose it was sheer love of them that +first made her play the coquette with Gavin. If she cried now, it was +not for herself; it was because she thought she had destroyed him. +Could I have gone to her then and said that Gavin wanted to blot out +the gypsy wedding, that throbbing little breast would have frozen at +once, and the drooping head would have been proud again, and she would +have gone away forever without another tear. + +What do I say? I am doing a wrong to the love these two bore each +other. Babbie would not have taken so base a message from my lips. He +would have had to say the words to her himself before she believed +them his. What would he want her to do now? was the only question she +asked herself. To follow him was useless, for in that rain and +darkness two people might have searched for each other all night in a +single field. That he would go to the Spittal, thinking her in +Rintoul's dogcart, she did not doubt; and his distress was painful to +her to think of. But not knowing that the burns were in flood, she +underestimated his danger. + +Remembering that the mudhouse was near, she groped her way to it, +meaning to pass the night there; but at the gate she turned away +hastily, hearing from the door the voice of a man she did not know to +be Nanny's brother. She wandered recklessly a short distance, until +the rain began to threaten again, and then, falling on her knees in +the broom, she prayed to God for guidance. When she rose she set off +for the manse. + +The rain that followed the flash of lightning had brought Margaret to +the kitchen. + +"Jean, did you ever hear such a rain? It is trying to break into the +manse." + +"I canna hear you, ma'am; is it the rain you're feared at?" + +"What else could it be?" + +Jean did not answer. + +"I hope the minister won't leave the church, Jean, till this is +over?" + +"Nobody would daur, ma'am. The rain'll turn the key on them all." + +Jean forced out these words with difficulty, for she knew that the +church had been empty and the door locked for over an hour. + +"This rain has come as if in answer to the minister's prayer, Jean." + +"It wasna rain like this they wanted." + +"Jean, you would not attempt to guide the Lord's hand. The minister +will have to reprove the people for thinking too much of him again, +for they will say that he induced God to send the rain. To-night's +meeting will be remembered long in Thrums." + +Jean shuddered, and said, "It's mair like an ordinary rain now, +ma'am." + +"But it has put out your fire, and I wanted another heater. Perhaps +the one I have is hot enough, though." + +Margaret returned to the parlor, and from the kitchen Jean could hear +the heater tilted backward and forward in the box-iron--a pleasant, +homely sound when there is happiness in the house. Soon she heard a +step outside, however, and it was followed by a rough shaking of the +barred door. + +"Is it you, Mr. Dishart?" Jean asked nervously. + +"It's me, Tammas Whamond," the precentor answered. "Unbar the door." + +"What do you want? Speak low." + +"I winna speak low. Let me in. I hae news for the minister's mother." + +"What news?" demanded Jean. + +"Jean Proctor, as chief elder of the kirk I order you to let me do my +duty." + +"Whaur's the minister?" + +"He's a minister no longer. He's married a gypsy woman and run awa wi' +her." + +"You lie, Tammas Whamond. I believe----" + +"Your belief's of no consequence. Open the door, and let me in to tell +your mistress what I hae seen." + +"She'll hear it first frae his ain lips if she hears it ava. I winna +open the door." + +"Then I'll burst it open." + +Whamond flung himself at the door, and Jean, her fingers rigid with +fear, stood waiting for its fall. But the rain came to her rescue by +lashing the precentor until even he was forced to run from it. + +"I'll be back again," he cried. "Woe to you, Jean Proctor, that hae +denied your God this nicht." + +"Who was that speaking to you, Jean?" asked Margaret, re-entering the +kitchen. Until the rain abated Jean did not attempt to answer. + +"I thought it was the precentor's voice," Margaret said. + +Jean was a poor hand at lying, and she stuttered in her answer. + +"There is nothing wrong, is there?" cried Margaret, in sudden fright. +"My son----" + +"Nothing, nothing." + +The words jumped from Jean to save Margaret from falling. Now she +could not take them back. "I winna believe it o' him," said Jean to +herself. "Let them say what they will, I'll be true to him; and when +he comes back he'll find her as he left her." + +"It was Lang Tammas," she answered her mistress; "but he just came to +say that----" + +"Quick, Jean! what?" + +"----Mr. Dishart has been called to a sick-bed in the country, +ma'am--to the farm o' Look-About-You; and as it's sic a rain, he's to +bide there a' nicht." + +"And Whamond came through that rain to tell me this? How good of him. +Was there any other message?" + +"Just that the minister hoped you would go straight to your bed, +ma'am," said Jean, thinking to herself, "There can be no great sin in +giving her one mair happy nicht; it may be her last." + +The two women talked for a short time, and then read verse about in +the parlor from the third chapter of Mark. + +"This is the first night we have been left alone in the manse," +Margaret said, as she was retiring to her bedroom, "and we must not +grudge the minister to those who have sore need of him. I notice that +you have barred the doors." + +"Ay, they're barred. Nobody can win in the nicht." + +"Nobody will want in, Jean," Margaret said, smiling. + +"I dinna ken about that," answered Jean below her breath. "Ay, ma'am, +may you sleep for baith o' us this nicht, for I daurna gang to my +bed." + +Jean was both right and wrong, for two persons wanted in within the +next half-hour, and she opened the door to both of them. The first to +come was Babbie. + +So long as women sit up of nights listening for a footstep, will they +flatten their faces at the window, though all without be black. Jean +had not been back in the kitchen for two minutes before she raised +the blind. Her eyes were close to the glass, when she saw another face +almost meet hers, as you may touch your reflection in a mirror. But +this face was not her own. It was white and sad. Jean suppressed a +cry, and let the blind fall, as if shutting the lid on some uncanny +thing. + +"Won't you let me in?" said a voice that might have been only the sob +of a rain-beaten wind; "I am nearly drowned." + +Jean stood like death; but her suppliant would not pass on. + +"You are not afraid?" the voice continued. "Raise the blind again, and +you will see that no one need fear me." + +At this request Jean's hands sought each other's company behind her +back. + +"Wha are you?" she asked, without stirring. "Are you--the woman?" + +"Yes." + +"Whaur's the minister?" + +The rain again became wild, but this time it only tore by the manse as +if to a conflict beyond. + +"Are you aye there? I daurna let you in till I'm sure the mistress is +bedded. Gang round to the front, and see if there's ony licht burning +in the high west window." + +"There was a light," the voice said presently, "but it was turned out +as I looked." + +"Then I'll let you in, and God kens I mean no wrang by it." + +Babbie entered shivering, and Jean rebarred the door. Then she looked +long at the woman whom her master loved. Babbie was on her knees at +the hearth, holding out her hands to the dead fire. + +"What a pity it's a fause face." + +"Do I look so false?" + +"Is it true? You're no married to him?" + +"Yes, it is true." + +"And yet you look as if you was fond o' him. If you cared for him, how +could you do it?" + +"That was why I did it." + +"And him could hae had wha he liked." + +"I gave up Lord Rintoul for him." + +"What? Na, na; you're the Egyptian." + +"You judge me by my dress." + +"And soaking it is. How you're shivering--what neat fingers--what +bonny little feet. I could near believe what you tell me. Aff wi' +these rags, an I'll gie you on my black frock, if--if you promise me +no to gang awa wi't." + +So Babbie put on some clothes of Jean's, including the black frock, +and stockings and shoes. + +"Mr. Dishart cannot be back, Jean," she said, "before morning, and I +don't want his mother to see me till he comes." + +"I wouldna let you near her the nicht though you gaed on your knees to +me. But whaur is he?" + +Babbie explained why Gavin had set off for the Spittal; but Jean shook +her head incredulously, saying, "I canna believe you're that grand +leddy, and yet ilka time I look at you I could near believe it." + +In another minute Jean had something else to think of, for there came +a loud rap upon the front door. + +"It's Tammas Whamond back again," she moaned; "and if the mistress +hears, she'll tell me to let him in." + +"You shall open to me," cried a hoarse voice. + +"That's no Tammas' word," Jean said in bewilderment. + +"It is Lord Rintoul," Babbie whispered. + +"What? Then it's truth you telled me." + +The knocking continued; a door upstairs opened, and Margaret spoke +over the banisters. + +"Have you gone to bed, Jean? Some one is knocking at the door, and a +minute ago I thought I heard a carriage stop close by. Perhaps the +farmer has driven Mr. Dishart home." + +"I'm putting on my things, ma'am," Jean answered; then whispered to +Babbie, "What's to be done?" + +"He won't go away," Babbie answered. "You will have to let him into +the parlor, Jean. Can she see the door from up there?" + +"No; but though he was in the parlor?" + +"I shall go to him there." + +"Make haste, Jean," Margaret called. "If it is any persons wanting +shelter, we must give it them on such a night." + +"A minute, ma'am," Jean answered. To Babbie she whispered, "What shall +I say to her?" + +"I--I don't know," answered Babbie ruefully. "Think of something, +Jean. But open the door now. Stop, let me into the parlor first." + +The two women stole into the parlor. + +"Tell me what will be the result o' his coming here," entreated Jean. + +"The result," Babbie said firmly, "will be that he shall go away and +leave me here." + +Margaret heard Jean open the front door and speak to some person or +persons whom she showed into the parlor. + + + + +Chapter Forty-One. + +RINTOUL AND BABBIE--BREAKDOWN OF THE DEFENCE OF THE MANSE. + + +"You dare to look me in the face!" + +They were Rintoul's words. Yet Babbie had only ventured to look up +because he was so long in speaking. His voice was low but harsh, like +a wheel on which the brake is pressed sharply. + +"It seems to be more than the man is capable of," he added sourly. + +"Do you think," Babbie exclaimed, taking fire, "that he is afraid of +you?" + +"So it seems; but I will drag him into the light, wherever he is +skulking." + +Lord Rintoul strode to the door, and the brake was off his tongue +already. + +"Go," said Babbie coldly, "and shout and stamp through the house; you +may succeed in frightening the women, who are the only persons in +it." + +"Where is he?" + +"He has gone to the Spittal to see you." + +"He knew I was on the hill." + +"He lost me in the darkness, and thought you had run away with me in +your trap." + +"Ha! So he is off to the Spittal to ask me to give you back to him." + +"To compel you," corrected Babbie. + +"Pooh!" said the earl nervously, "that was but mummery on the hill." + +"It was a marriage." + +"With gypsies for witnesses. Their word would count for less than +nothing. Babbie, I am still in time to save you." + +"I don't want to be saved. The marriage had witnesses no court could +discredit." + +"What witnesses?" + +"Mr. McKenzie and yourself." + +She heard his teeth meet. When next she looked at him, there were +tears in his eyes as well as in her own. It was perhaps the first time +these two had ever been in close sympathy. Both were grieving for +Rintoul. + +"I am so sorry," Babbie began in a broken voice; then stopped, because +they seemed such feeble words. + +"If you are sorry," the earl answered eagerly, "it is not yet too +late. McKenzie and I saw nothing. Come away with me, Babbie, if only +in pity for yourself." + +"Ah, but I don't pity myself." + +"Because this man has blinded you." + +"No, he has made me see." + +"This mummery on the hill----" + +"Why do you call it so? I believe God approved of that marriage, as He +could never have countenanced yours and mine." + +"God! I never heard the word on your lips before." + +"I know that." + +"It is his teaching, doubtless?" + +"Yes." + +"And he told you that to do to me as you have done was to be pleasing +in God's sight?" + +"No; he knows that it was so evil in God's sight that I shall suffer +for it always." + +"But he has done no wrong, so there is no punishment for him?" + +"It is true that he has done no wrong, but his punishment will be +worse, probably, than mine." + +[Illustration: "YOU DARE TO LOOK ME IN THE FACE!"] + +"That," said the earl, scoffing, "is not just." + +"It is just. He has accepted responsibility for my sins by marrying +me." + +"And what form is his punishment to take?" + +"For marrying me he will be driven from his church and dishonored in +all men's eyes, unless--unless God is more merciful to us than we can +expect." + +Her sincerity was so obvious that the earl could no longer meet it +with sarcasm. + +"It is you I pity now," he said, looking wonderingly at her. "Do you +not see that this man has deceived you? Where was his boasted purity +in meeting you by stealth, as he must have been doing, and plotting to +take you from me?" + +"If you knew him," Babbie answered, "you would not need to be told +that he is incapable of that. He thought me an ordinary gypsy until an +hour ago." + +"And you had so little regard for me that you waited until the eve of +what was to be our marriage, and then, laughing at my shame, ran off +to marry him." + +"I am not so bad as that," Babbie answered, and told him what had +brought her to Thrums. "I had no thought but of returning to you, nor +he of keeping me from you. We had said good-by at the mudhouse +door--and then we heard your voice." + +"And my voice was so horrible to you that it drove you to this?" + +"I--I love him so much." + +What more could Babbie answer? These words told him that, if +love commands, home, the friendships of a lifetime, kindnesses +incalculable, are at once as naught. Nothing is so cruel as love if +a rival challenges it to combat. + +"Why could you not love me, Babbie?" said the earl sadly. "I have done +so much for you." + +It was little he had done for her that was not selfish. Men are +deceived curiously in such matters. When they add a new wing to their +house, they do not call the action virtue; but if they give to a +fellow-creature for their own gratification, they demand of God a good +mark for it. Babbie, however, was in no mood to make light of the +earl's gifts, and at his question she shook her head sorrowfully. + +"Is it because I am too--old?" + +This was the only time he ever spoke of his age to her. + +"Oh no, it is not that," she replied hastily, "I love Mr. +Dishart--because he loves me, I think." + +"Have I not loved you always?" + +"Never," Babbie answered simply. "If you had, perhaps then I should +have loved you." + +"Babbie," he exclaimed, "if ever man loved woman, and showed it by the +sacrifices he made for her, I----" + +"No," Babbie said, "you don't understand what it is. Ah! I did not +mean to hurt you." + +"If I don't know what it is, what is it?" he asked, almost humbly. "I +scarcely know you now." + +"That is it," said Babbie. + +She gave him back his ring, and then he broke down pitifully. +Doubtless there was good in him, but I saw him only once; and with +nothing to contrast against it, I may not now attempt to breathe life +into the dust of his senile passion. These were the last words that +passed between him and Babbie: + +"There was nothing," he said wistfully, "in this wide world that you +could not have had by asking me for it. Was not that love?" + +"No," she answered. "What right have I to everything I cry for?" + +"You should never have had a care had you married me. That is love." + +"It is not. I want to share my husband's cares, as I expect him to +share mine." + +"I would have humored you in everything." + +"You always did: as if a woman's mind were for laughing at, like a +baby's passions." + +"You had your passions, too, Babbie. Yet did I ever chide you for +them? That was love." + +"No, it was contempt. Oh," she cried passionately, "what have not you +men to answer for who talk of love to a woman when her face is all you +know of her; and her passions, her aspirations, are for kissing to +sleep, her very soul a plaything? I tell you, Lord Rintoul, and it is +all the message I send back to the gentlemen at the Spittal who made +love to me behind your back, that this is a poor folly, and well +calculated to rouse the wrath of God." + +Now, Jean's ear had been to the parlor keyhole for a time, but some +message she had to take to Margaret, and what she risked saying was +this: + +"It's Lord Rintoul and a party that has been catched in the rain, and +he would be obliged to you if you could gie his bride shelter for the +nicht." + +Thus the distracted servant thought to keep Margaret's mind at rest +until Gavin came back. + +"Lord Rintoul!" exclaimed Margaret. "What a pity Gavin has missed him. +Of course she can stay here. Did you say I had gone to bed? I should +not know what to say to a lord. But ask her to come up to me after he +has gone--and, Jean, is the parlor looking tidy?" + +Lord Rintoul having departed, Jean told Babbie how she had accounted +to Margaret for his visit. "And she telled me to gie you dry claethes +and her compliments, and would you gang up to the bedroom and see +her?" + +Very slowly Babbie climbed the stairs. I suppose she is the only +person who was ever afraid of Margaret. Her first knock on the bedroom +door was so soft that Margaret, who was sitting up in bed, did not +hear it. When Babbie entered the room, Margaret's first thought was +that there could be no other so beautiful as this, and her second was +that the stranger seemed even more timid than herself. After a few +minutes' talk she laid aside her primness, a weapon she had drawn in +self-defence lest this fine lady should not understand the grandeur of +a manse, and at a "Call me Babbie, won't you?" she smiled. + +"That is what some other person calls you," said Margaret archly. "Do +you know that he took twenty minutes to say good-night? My dear," she +added hastily, misinterpreting Babbie's silence, "I should have been +sorry had he taken one second less. Every tick of the clock was a +gossip, telling me how he loves you." + +In the dim light a face that begged for pity was turned to Margaret. + +"He does love you, Babbie?" she asked, suddenly doubtful. + +Babbie turned away her face, then shook her head. + +"But you love him?" + +Again Babbie shook her head. + +"Oh, my dear," cried Margaret, in distress, "if this is so, are you +not afraid to marry him?" + +She knew now that Babbie was crying, but she did not know why Babbie +could not look her in the face. + +"There may be times," Babbie said, most woeful that she had not +married Rintoul, "when it is best to marry a man though we do not love +him." + +"You are wrong, Babbie," Margaret answered gravely; "if I know +anything at all, it is that." + +"It may be best for others." + +"Do you mean for one other?" Margaret asked, and the girl bowed her +head. "Ah, Babbie, you speak like a child." + +"You do not understand." + +"I do not need to be told the circumstances to know this--that if two +people love each other, neither has any right to give the other up." + +Babbie turned impulsively to cast herself on the mercy of Gavin's +mother, but no word could she say; a hot tear fell from her eyes upon +the coverlet, and then she looked at the door, as if to run away. + +"But I have been too inquisitive," Margaret began; whereupon Babbie +cried, "Oh no, no, no: you are very good. I have no one who cares +whether I do right or wrong." + +"Your parents----" + +"I have had none since I was a child." + +"It is the more reason why I should be your friend," Margaret said, +taking the girl's hand. + +"You do not know what you are saying. You cannot be my friend." + +"Yes, dear, I love you already. You have a good face, Babbie, as well +as a beautiful one." + +Babbie could remain in the room no longer. She bade Margaret +good-night and bent forward to kiss her; then drew back, like a Judas +ashamed. + +"Why did you not kiss me?" Margaret asked in surprise, but poor Babbie +walked out of the room without answering. + + * * * * * + +Of what occurred at the manse on the following day until I reached it, +I need tell little more. When Babbie was tending Sam'l Farquharson's +child in the Tenements she learned of the flood in Glen Quharity, and +that the greater part of the congregation had set off to the +assistance of the farmers; but fearful as this made her for Gavin's +safety, she kept the new anxiety from his mother. Deceived by another +story of Jean's, Margaret was the one happy person in the house. + +"I believe you had only a lover's quarrel with Lord Rintoul last +night," she said to Babbie in the afternoon. "Ah, you see I can guess +what is taking you to the window so often. You must not think him long +in coming for you. I can assure you that the rain which keeps my son +from me must be sufficiently severe to separate even true lovers. Take +an old woman's example, Babbie. If I thought the minister's absence +alarming, I should be in anguish; but as it is, my mind is so much at +ease that, see, I can thread my needle." + +It was in less than an hour after Margaret spoke thus tranquilly to +Babbie that the precentor got into the manse. + + + + +Chapter Forty-Two. + +MARGARET, THE PRECENTOR, AND GOD BETWEEN. + + +Unless Andrew Luke, who went to Canada, be still above ground, I am +now the only survivor of the few to whom Lang Tammas told what passed +in the manse parlor after the door closed on him and Margaret. With +the years the others lost the details, but before I forget them the +man who has been struck by lightning will look at his arm without +remembering what shrivelled it. There even came a time when the scene +seemed more vivid to me than to the precentor, though that was only +after he began to break up. + +"She was never the kind o' woman," Whamond said, "that a body need be +nane feared at. You can see she is o' the timid sort. I couldna hae +selected a woman easier to speak bold out to, though I had ha'en my +pick o' them." + +He was a gaunt man, sour and hard, and he often paused in his story +with a puzzled look on his forbidding face. + +"But, man, she was so michty windy o' him. If he had wanted to put a +knife into her, I believe that woman would just hae telled him to take +care no to cut his hands. Ay, and what innocent-like she was! If she +had heard enough, afore I saw her, to make her uneasy, I could hae +begun at once; but here she was, shaking my hand and smiling to me, so +that aye when I tried to speak I gaed through ither. Nobody can +despise me for it, I tell you, mair than I despise mysel'. + +"I thocht to mysel', 'Let her hae her smile out, Tammas Whamond; it's +her hinmost.' Syne wi' shame at my cowardliness, I tried to yoke to my +duty as chief elder o' the kirk, and I said to her, as thrawn as I +could speak, 'Dinna thank me; I've done nothing for you.' + +"'I ken it wasna for me you did it,' she said, 'but for him; but, oh, +Mr. Whamond, will that make me think the less o' you? He's my all,' +she says, wi' that smile back in her face, and a look mixed up wi't +that said as plain, 'and I need no more.' I thocht o' saying that some +builds their house upon the sand, but--dagont, dominie, it's a solemn +thing the pride mithers has in their laddies. I mind aince my ain +mither--what the devil are you glowering at, Andrew Luke? Do you think +I'm greeting? + +"'You'll sit down, Mr. Whamond,' she says next. + +"'No, I winna,' I said, angry-like. 'I didna come here to sit.' + +"I could see she thocht I was shy at being in the manse parlor; ay, +and I thocht she was pleased at me looking shy. Weel, she took my hat +out o' my hand, and she put it on the chair at the door, whaur there's +aye an auld chair in grand houses for the servant to sit on at family +exercise. + +"'You're a man, Mr. Whamond,' says she, 'that the minister delights to +honor, and so you'll oblige me by sitting in his own armchair.'" + +Gavin never quite delighted to honor the precentor, of whom he was +always a little afraid, and perhaps Margaret knew it. But you must not +think less of her for wanting to gratify her son's chief elder. She +thought, too, that he had just done her a service. I never yet knew a +good woman who did not enjoy flattering men she liked. + +"I saw my chance at that," Whamond went on, "and I says to her +sternly, 'In worldly position,' I says, 'I'm a common man, and it's no +for the like o' sic to sit in a minister's chair; but it has been +God's will,' I says, 'to wrap around me the mantle o' chief elder o' +the kirk, and if the minister falls awa frae grace, it becomes my duty +to take his place.' + +"If she had been looking at me, she maun hae grown feared at that, and +syne I could hae gone on though my ilka word was a knockdown blow. But +she was picking some things aff the chair to let me down on't. + +"'It's a pair o' mittens I'm working for the minister,' she says, and +she handed them to me. Ay, I tried no to take them, but--Oh, lads, +it's queer to think how saft I was. + +"'He's no to ken about them till they're finished,' she says, terrible +fond-like. + +"The words came to my mouth, 'They'll never be finished,' and I could +hae cursed mysel' for no saying them. I dinna ken how it was, but +there was something pitiful in seeing her take up the mittens and +begin working cheerily at one, and me kenning all the time that they +would never be finished. I watched her fingers, and I said to mysel', +'Another stitch, and that maun be your last.' I said that to mysel' +till I thocht it was the needle that said it, and I wondered at her no +hearing. + +"In the tail o' the day I says, 'You needna bother; he'll never wear +them,' and they sounded sic words o' doom that I rose up off the +chair. Ay, but she took me up wrang, and she said, 'I see you have +noticed how careless o' his ain comforts he is, and that in his zeal +he forgets to put on his mittens, though they may be in his pocket a' +the time. Ay,' says she, confident-like, 'but he winna forget these +mittens, Mr. Whamond, and I'll tell you the reason: it's because +they're his mother's work.' + +"I stamped my foot, and she gae me an apologetic look, and she says, +'I canna help boasting about his being so fond o' me.' + +"Ay, but here was me saying to mysel', 'Do your duty, Tammas Whamond; +you sluggard, do your duty,' and without lifting my een frae her +fingers I said sternly, 'The chances are,' I said, 'that these mittens +will never be worn by the hands they are worked for.' + +"'You mean,' says she, 'that he'll gie them awa to some ill-off body, +as he gies near a' thing he has? Ay, but there's one thing he never +parts wi', and that's my work. There's a young lady in the manse the +now,' says she, 'that offered to finish the mittens for me, but he +would value them less if I let ony other body put a stitch into +them.' + +"I thocht to mysel', 'Tammas Whamond, the Lord has opened a door to +you, and you'll be disgraced forever if you dinna walk straucht in.' +So I rose again, and I says, boldly this time, 'Whaur's that young +leddy? I hae something to say to her that canna be kept waiting.' + +"'She's up the stair,' she says, surprised, 'but you canna ken her, +Mr. Whamond, for she just came last nicht.' + +"'I ken mair o' her than you think,' says I; 'I ken what brocht her +here, and ken wha she thinks she is to be married to, and I've come to +tell her that she'll never get him.' + +"'How no?' she said, amazed like. + +"'Because,' said I, wi' my teeth thegither, 'he is already married.' + +"Lads, I stood waiting to see her fall, and when she didna fall I just +waited langer, thinking she was slow in taking it a' in. + +"'I see you ken wha she is,' she said, looking at me, 'and yet I canna +credit your news.' + +"'They're true,' I cries. + +"'Even if they are,' says she, considering, 'it may be the best thing +that could happen to baith o' them.' + +"I sank back in the chair in fair bewilderment, for I didna ken at +that time, as we a' ken now, that she was thinking o' the earl when I +was thinking o' her son. Dominie, it looked to me as if the Lord had +opened a door to me, and syne shut it in my face. + +"Syne wi' me sitting there in a kind o' awe o' the woman's simpleness, +she began to tell me what the minister was like when he was a bairn, +and I was saying a' the time to mysel', 'You're chief elder o' the +kirk, Tammas Whamond, and you maun speak out the next time she stops +to draw breath.' They were terrible sma', common things she telled me, +sic as near a' mithers minds about their bairns, but the kind o' holy +way she said them drove my words down my throat, like as if I was some +infidel man trying to break out wi' blasphemy in a kirk. + +"'I'll let you see something,' says she, 'that I ken will interest +you.' She brocht it out o' a drawer, and what do you think it was? As +sure as death it was no more than some o' his hair when he was a +litlin, and it was tied up sic carefully in paper that you would hae +thocht it was some valuable thing. + +"'Mr. Whamond,' she says solemnly, 'you've come thrice to the manse to +keep me frae being uneasy about my son's absence, and you was the +chief instrument under God in bringing him to Thrums, and I'll gie you +a little o' that hair.' + +"Dagont, what did I care about his hair? and yet to see her fondling +it! I says to mysel', 'Mrs. Dishart,' I says to mysel', 'I was the +chief instrument under God in bringing him to Thrums, and I've come +here to tell you that I'm to be the chief instrument under God in +driving him out o't.' Ay, but when I focht to bring out these words, +my mouth snecked like a box. + +"'Dinna gie me his hair,' was a' I could say, and I wouldna take it +frae her; but she laid it in my hand, and--and syne what could I do? +Ay, it's easy to speak about thae things now, and to wonder how I +could hae so disgraced the position o' chief elder o' the kirk, but I +tell you I was near greeting for the woman. Call me names, dominie; I +deserve them all." + +I did not call Whamond names for being reluctant to break Margaret's +heart. Here is a confession I may make. Sometimes I say my prayers at +night in a hurry, going on my knees indeed, but with as little +reverence as I take a drink of water before jumping into bed, and for +the same reason, because it is my nightly habit. I am only pattering +words I have by heart to a chair then, and should be as well employed +writing a comic Bible. At such times I pray for the earthly well-being +of the precentor, though he has been dead for many years. He crept +into my prayers the day he told me this story, and was part of them +for so long that when they are only a recitation he is part of them +still. + +"She said to me," Whamond continued, "that the women o' the +congregation would be fond to handle the hair. Could I tell her that +the women was waur agin him than the men? I shivered to hear her. + +"'Syne when they're a' sitting breathless listening to his preaching,' +she says, 'they'll be able to picture him as a bairn, just as I often +do in the kirk mysel'.' + +"Andrew Luke, you're sneering at me, but I tell you if you had been +there and had begun to say, 'He'll preach in our kirk no more,' I +would hae struck you. And I'm chief elder o' the kirk. + +"She says, 'Oh, Mr. Whamond, there's times in the kirk when he is +praying, and the glow on his face is hardly mortal, so that I fall +a-shaking, wi' a mixture o' fear and pride, me being his mother; and +sinful though I am to say it, I canna help thinking at sic times that +I ken what the mother o' Jesus had in her heart when she found Him in +the temple.' + +"Dominie, it's sax-and-twenty years since I was made an elder o' the +kirk. I mind the day as if it was yestreen. Mr. Carfrae made me walk +hame wi' him, and he took me into the manse parlor, and he set me in +that very chair. It was the first time I was ever in the manse. Ay, he +little thocht that day in his earnestness, and I little thocht mysel' +in the pride o' my lusty youth, that the time was coming when I would +swear in that reverenced parlor. I say swear, dominie, for when she +had finished I jumped to my feet, and I cried, 'Hell!' and I lifted up +my hat. And I was chief elder. + +"She fell back frae my oath," he said, "and syne she took my sleeve +and speired, 'What has come ower you, Mr. Whamond? Hae you onything on +your mind?' + +"'I've sin on it,' I roared at her. 'I have neglect o' duty on it. I +am one o' them that cries "Lord, Lord," and yet do not the things +which He commands. He has pointed out the way to me, and I hinna +followed it.' + +"'What is it you hinna done that you should hae done?' she said. 'Oh, +Mr. Whamond, if you want my help, it's yours.' + +"'Your son's a' the earth to you,' I cried, 'but my eldership's as +muckle to me. Sax-and-twenty years hae I been an elder, and now I maun +gie it up.' + +"'Wha says that?' she speirs. + +"'I say it,' I cried. 'I've shirked my duty. I gie up my eldership +now. Tammas Whamond is no langer an elder o' the kirk;' ay, and I was +chief elder. + +"Dominie, I think she began to say that when the minister came hame he +wouldna accept my resignation, but I paid no heed to her. You ken what +was the sound that keeped my ears frae her words; it was the sound o' +a machine coming yont the Tenements. You ken what was the sicht that +made me glare through the window instead o' looking at her; it was the +sicht o' Mr. Dishart in the machine. I couldna speak, but I got my +body atween her and the window, for I heard shouting, and I couldna +doubt that it was the folk cursing him. + +"But she heard too, she heard too, and she squeezed by me to the +window. I couldna look out; I just walked saft-like to the parlor +door, but afore I reached it she cried joyously-- + +"'It's my son come back, and see how fond o' him they are! They are +running at the side o' the machine, and the laddies are tossing their +bonnets in the air.' + +"'God help you, woman!' I said to mysel', 'it canna be bonnets--it's +stanes and divits mair likely that they're flinging at him.' Syne I +creeped out o' the manse. Dominie, you mind I passed you in the +kitchen, and didna say a word?" + +Yes, I saw the precentor pass through the kitchen, with such a face on +him as no man ever saw him wear again. Since Tammas Whamond died we +have had to enlarge the Thrums cemetery twice; so it can matter not at +all to him, and but little to me, what you who read think of him. All +his life children ran from him. He was the dourest, the most unlovable +man in Thrums. But may my right hand wither, and may my tongue be +cancer-bitten, and may my mind be gone into a dry rot, before I forget +what he did for me and mine that day! + + + + +Chapter Forty-Three. + +RAIN--MIST--THE JAWS. + + +To this day we argue in the glen about the sound mistaken by many of +us for the firing of the Spittal cannon, some calling it thunder and +others the tearing of trees in the torrent. I think it must have been +the roll of stones into the Quharity from Silver Hill, of which a +corner has been missing since that day. Silver Hill is all stones, as +if creation had been riddled there, and in the sun the mica on them +shines like many pools of water. + +At the roar, as they thought, of the cannon, the farmers looked up +from their struggle with the flood to say, "That's Rintoul married," +as clocks pause simultaneously to strike the hour. Then every one in +the glen save Gavin and myself was done with Rintoul. Before the hills +had answered the noise, Gavin was on his way to the Spittal. The dog +must have been ten minutes in overtaking him, yet he maintained +afterward that it was with him from the start. From this we see that +the shock he had got carried him some distance before he knew that he +had left the school-house. It also gave him a new strength, that +happily lasted longer than his daze of mind. + +Gavin moved northward quicker than I came south, climbing over or +wading through his obstacles, while I went round mine. After a time, +too, the dog proved useful, for on discovering that it was going +homeward it took the lead, and several times drew him to the right +road to the Spittal by refusing to accompany him on the wrong road. +Yet in two hours he had walked perhaps nine miles without being four +miles nearer the Spittal. In that flood the glen milestones were three +miles apart. + +For some time he had been following the dog doubtfully, for it seemed +to be going too near the river. When they struck a cart-track, +however, he concluded rightly that they were nearing a bridge. His +faith in his guide was again tested before they had been many minutes +on this sloppy road. The dog stopped, whined, looked irresolute, and +then ran to the right, disappearing into the mist in an instant. He +shouted to it to come back, and was surprised to hear a whistle in +reply. This was sufficient to make him dash after the dog, and in less +than a minute he stopped abruptly by the side of a shepherd. + +"Have you brocht it?" the man cried almost into Gavin's ear; yet the +roar of the water was so tremendous that the words came faintly, as if +from a distance. "Wae is me; is it only you, Mr. Dishart?" + +"Is it only you!" No one in the glen would have addressed a minister +thus except in a matter of life or death, and Gavin knew it. + +"He'll be ower late," the shepherd exclaimed, rubbing his hands +together in distress. "I'm speaking o' Whinbusses' grieve. He has run +for ropes, but he'll be ower late." + +"Is there some one in danger?" asked Gavin, who stood, he knew not +where, with this man, enveloped in mist. + +"Is there no? Look!" + +"There is nothing to be seen but mist; where are we?" + +"We're on the high bank o' the Quharity. Take care, man; you was +stepping ower into the roaring water. Lie down and tell me if he's +there yet. Maybe I just think that I see him, for the sicht is painted +on my een." + +Gavin lay prone and peered at the river, but the mist came up to his +eyes. He only knew that the river was below from the sound. + +"Is there a man down there?" he asked, shuddering. + +"There was a minute syne; on a bit island." + +"Why does he not speak?" + +"He is senseless. Dinna move; the mist's clearing, and you'll see if +he's there syne. The mist has been lifting and falling that way ilka +minute since me and the grieve saw him." + +The mist did not rise. It only shook like a blanket, and then again +remained stationary. But in that movement Gavin had seen twice, first +incredulously, and then with conviction. + +"Shepherd," he said, rising, "it is Lord Rintoul." + +"Ay, it's him; and you saw his feet was in the water. They were dry +when the grieve left me. Mr. Dishart, the ground he is on is being +washed awa bit by bit. I tell you, the flood's greedy for him, and +it'll hae him----Look, did you see him again?" + +"Is he living?" + +"We saw him move. Hst! Was that a cry?" + +It was only the howling of the dog, which had recognized its master +and was peering over the bank, the body quivering to jump, but the +legs restless with indecision. + +"If we were down there," Gavin said, "we could hold him secure till +rescue comes. It is no great jump." + +"How far would you make it? I saw him again!" + +"It looked further that time." + +"That's it! Sometimes the ground he is on looks so near that you think +you could almost drop on it, and the next time it's yards and yards +awa. I've stood ready for the spring, Mr. Dishart, a dozen times, but +I aye sickened. I daurna do it. Look at the dog; just when it's +starting to jump, it pulls itsel' back." + +As if it had heard the shepherd, the dog jumped at that instant. + +"It sprang too far," Gavin said. + +"It didna spring far enough." + +They waited, and presently the mist thinned for a moment, as if it was +being drawn out. They saw the earl, but there was no dog. + +"Poor brute," said the shepherd, and looked with awe at Gavin. + +"Rintoul is slipping into the water," Gavin answered. "You won't +jump?" + +"No, I'm wae for him, and----" + +"Then I will," Gavin was about to say, but the shepherd continued, +"And him only married twa hours syne." + +That kept the words in Gavin's mouth for half a minute, and then he +spoke them. + +"Dinna think o't," cried the shepherd, taking him by the coat. "The +ground he is on is slippery. I've flung a dozen stanes at it, and them +that hit it slithered off. Though you landed in the middle o't, you +would slide into the water." + +"He shook himsel' free o' me," the shepherd told afterward, "and I saw +him bending down and measuring the distance wi' his een as cool as if +he was calculating a drill o' tatties. Syne I saw his lips moving in +prayer. It wasna spunk he needed to pray for, though. Next minute +there was me, my very arms prigging wi' him to think better o't, and +him standing ready to loup, his knees bent, and not a tremble in them. +The mist lifted, and I----Lads, I couldna gie a look to the earl. Mr. +Dishart jumped; I hardly saw him, but I kent, I kent, for I was on the +bank alane. What did I do? I flung mysel' down in a sweat, and if een +could bore mist mine would hae done it. I thocht I heard the +minister's death-cry, and may I be struck if I dinna believe now that +it was a skirl o' my ain. After that there was no sound but the jaw +o' the water; and I prayed, but no to God, to the mist to rise, and +after an awful time it rose, and I saw the minister was safe; he had +pulled the earl into the middle o' the bit island and was rubbing him +back to consciousness. I sweat when I think o't yet." + +The Little Minister's jump is always spoken of as a brave act in the +glen, but at such times I am silent. This is not because, being timid +myself, I am without admiration for courage. My little maid says that +three in every four of my poems are to the praise of prowess, and she +has not forgotten how I carried her on my shoulder once to Tilliedrum +to see a soldier who had won the Victoria Cross, and made her shake +hands with him, though he was very drunk. Only last year one of my +scholars declared to me that Nelson never said "England expects every +man this day to do his duty," for which I thrashed the boy and sent +him to the cooling-stone. But was it brave of Gavin to jump? I have +heard some maintain that only misery made him so bold, and others that +he jumped because it seemed a fine thing to risk his life for an +enemy. But these are really charges of cowardice, and my boy was never +a coward. Of the two kinds of courage, however, he did not then show +the nobler. I am glad that he was ready for such an act, but he should +have remembered Margaret and Babbie. As it was, he may be said to have +forced them to jump with him. Not to attempt a gallant deed for which +one has the impulse, may be braver than the doing of it. + +"Though it seemed as lang time," the shepherd says, "as I could hae +run up a hill in, I dinna suppose it was many minutes afore I saw +Rintoul opening and shutting his een. The next glint I had o' them +they were speaking to ane another; ay, and mair than speaking. They +were quarrelling. I couldna hear their words, but there was a moment +when I thocht they were to grapple. Lads, the memory o' that'll hing +about my deathbed. There was twa men, edicated to the highest pitch, +ane a lord and the other a minister, and the flood was taking awa a +mouthful o' their footing ilka minute, and the jaws o' destruction was +gaping for them, and yet they were near fechting. We ken now it was +about a woman. Ay, but does that make it less awful?" + +No, that did not make it less awful. It was even awful that Gavin's +first words when Rintoul opened his eyes and closed them hastily were, +"Where is she?" The earl did not answer; indeed, for the moment the +words had no meaning to him. + +"How did I come here?" he asked feebly. + +"You should know better than I. Where is my wife?" + +"I remember now," Rintoul repeated several times. "Yes, I had left the +Spittal to look for you--you were so long in coming. How did I find +you?" + +"It was I who found you," Gavin answered. "You must have been swept +away by the flood." + +"And you too?" + +In a few words Gavin told how he came to be beside the earl. + +"I suppose they will say you have saved my life," was Rintoul's +commentary. + +"It is not saved yet. If help does not come, we shall be dead men in +an hour. What have you done with my wife?" + +Rintoul ceased to listen to him, and shouted sums of money to the +shepherd, who shook his head and bawled an answer that neither Gavin +nor the earl heard. Across that thundering water only Gavin's voice +could carry, the most powerful ever heard in a Thrums pulpit, the one +voice that could be heard all over the Commonty during the time of the +tent-preaching. Yet he never roared, as some preachers do of whom we +say, "Ah, if they could hear the Little Minister's word!" + +Gavin caught the gesticulating earl by the sleeve, and said, "Another +man has gone for ropes. Now, listen to me; how dared you go through a +marriage ceremony with her, knowing her already to be my wife?" + +Rintoul did listen this time. + +"How do you know I married her?" he asked sharply. + +"I heard the cannon." + +Now the earl understood, and the shadow on his face shook and lifted, +and his teeth gleamed. His triumph might be short-lived, but he would +enjoy it while he could. + +"Well," he answered, picking the pebbles for his sling with care, "you +must know that I could not have married her against her will. The +frolic on the hill amused her, but she feared you might think it +serious, and so pressed me to proceed with her marriage to-day despite +the flood." + +This was the point at which the shepherd saw the minister raise his +fist. It fell, however, without striking. + +"Do you really think that I could doubt her?" Gavin said compassionately, +and for the second time in twenty-four hours the earl learned that he +did not know what love is. + +For a full minute they had forgotten where they were. Now, again, the +water seemed to break loose, so that both remembered their danger +simultaneously and looked up. The mist parted for long enough to show +them that where had only been the shepherd was now a crowd of men, +with here and there a woman. Before the mist again came between the +minister had recognized many members of his congregation. + + * * * * * + +In his unsuccessful attempt to reach Whinbusses, the grieve had met +the relief party from Thrums. Already the weavers had helped Waster +Lunny to stave off ruin, and they were now on their way to Whinbusses, +keeping together through fear of mist and water. Every few minutes +Snecky Hobart rang his bell to bring in stragglers. + +"Follow me," was all the panting grieve could say at first, but his +agitation told half his story. They went with him patiently, only +stopping once, and then excitedly, for they come suddenly on Rob Dow. +Rob was still lying a prisoner beneath the tree, and the grieve now +remembered that he had fallen over this tree, and neither noticed the +man under it nor been noticed by the man. Fifty hands released poor +Dow, and two men were commissioned to bring him along slowly while the +others hurried to the rescue of the earl. They were amazed to learn +from the shepherd that Mr. Dishart also was in danger, and after "Is +there a woman wi' him?" some cried, "He'll get off cheap wi' +drowning," and "It's the judgment o' God." + +The island on which the two men stood was now little bigger than the +round tables common in Thrums, and its centre was some feet farther +from the bank than when Gavin jumped. A woman, looking down at it, +sickened, and would have toppled into the water, had not John Spens +clutched her. Others were so stricken with awe that they forgot they +had hands. + +Peter Tosh, the elder, cast a rope many times, but it would not carry. +The one end was then weighted with a heavy stone, and the other tied +round the waists of two men. But the force of the river had been +underestimated. The stone fell short into the torrent, which rushed +off with it so furiously that the men were flung upon their faces and +trailed to the verge of the precipice. A score of persons sprang to +their rescue, and the rope snapped. There was only one other rope, and +its fate was not dissimilar. This time the stone fell into the water +beyond the island, and immediately rushed down stream. Gavin seized +the rope, but it pressed against his body, and would have pushed him +off his feet had not Tosh cut it. The trunk of the tree that had +fallen on Rob Dow was next dragged to the bank and an endeavor made to +form a sloping bridge of it. The island, however, was now soft and +unstable, and, though the trunk was successfully lowered, it only +knocked lumps off the island, and finally it had to be let go, as the +weavers could not pull it back. It splashed into the water, and was at +once whirled out of sight. Some of the party on the bank began hastily +to improvise a rope of cravats and the tags of the ropes still left, +but the mass stood helpless and hopeless. + +"You may wonder that we could have stood still, waiting to see the +last o' them," Birse, the post, has said to me in the school-house, +"but, dominie, I couldna hae moved, magre my neck. I'm a hale man, but +if this minute we was to hear the voice o' the Almighty saying +solemnly, 'Afore the clock strikes again, Birse, the post, will fall +down dead of heart disease,' what do you think you would do? I'll tell +you. You would stand whaur you are, and stare, tongue-tied, at me till +I dropped. How do I ken? By the teaching o' that nicht. Ay, but +there's a mair important thing I dinna ken, and that is whether I +would be palsied wi' fear like the earl, or face death with the +calmness o' the minister." + +Indeed, the contrast between Rintoul and Gavin was now impressive. +When Tosh signed that the weavers had done their all and failed, the +two men looked in each other's faces, and Gavin's face was firm and +the earl's working convulsively. The people had given up attempting to +communicate with Gavin save by signs, for though they heard his +sonorous voice, when he pitched it at them, they saw that he caught +few words of theirs. "He heard our skirls," Birse said, "but couldna +grip the words ony mair than we could hear the earl. And yet we +screamed, and the minister didna. I've heard o' Highlandmen wi' the +same gift, so that they could be heard across a glen." + +"We must prepare for death," Gavin said solemnly to the earl, "and it +is for your own sake that I again ask you to tell me the truth. +Worldly matters are nothing to either of us now, but I implore you not +to carry a lie into your Maker's presence." + +"I will not give up hope," was all Rintoul's answer, and he again +tried to pierce the mist with offers of reward. After that he became +doggedly silent, fixing his eyes on the ground at his feet. I have a +notion that he had made up his mind to confess the truth about Babbie +when the water had eaten the island as far as the point at which he +was now looking. + + + + +Chapter Forty-Four. + +END OF THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. + + +Out of the mist came the voice of Gavin, clear and strong-- + +"If you hear me, hold up your hands as a sign." + +They heard, and none wondered at his voice crossing the chasm while +theirs could not. When the mist cleared, they were seen to have done +as he bade them. Many hands remained up for a time because the people +did not remember to bring them down, so great was the awe that had +fallen on all, as if the Lord was near. + +Gavin took his watch from his pocket, and he said-- + +"I am to fling this to you. You will give it to Mr. Ogilvy, the +schoolmaster, as a token of the love I bear him." + +The watch was caught by James Langlands, and handed to Peter Tosh, the +chief elder present. + +"To Mr. Ogilvy," Gavin continued, "you will also give the chain. You +will take it off my neck when you find the body. + +"To each of my elders, and to Hendry Munn, kirk officer, and to my +servant Jean, I leave a book, and they will go to my study and choose +it for themselves. + +"I also leave a book for Nanny Webster, and I charge you, Peter Tosh, +to take it to her, though she be not a member of my church. + +"The pictorial Bible with 'To my son on his sixth birthday' on it, I +bequeath to Rob Dow. No, my mother will want to keep that. I give to +Rob Dow my Bible with the brass clasp. + +"It is my wish that every family in the congregation should have some +little thing to remember me by. This you will tell my mother. + +"To my successor I leave whatsoever of my papers he may think of any +value to him, including all my notes on Revelation, of which I meant +to make a book. I hope he will never sing the paraphrases. + +"If Mr. Carfrae's health permits, you will ask him to preach the +funeral sermon; but if he be too frail, then you will ask Mr. Trail, +under whom I sat in Glasgow. The illustrated 'Pilgrim's Progress' on +the drawers in my bedroom belongs to Mr. Trail, and you will return it +to him with my affection and compliments. + +"I owe five shillings to Hendry Munn for mending my boots, and a +smaller sum to Baxter, the mason. I have two pounds belonging to Rob +Dow, who asked me to take charge of them for him. I owe no other man +anything, and this you will bear in mind if Matthew Cargill, the +flying stationer, again brings forward a claim for the price of +Whiston's 'Josephus,' which I did not buy from him. + +"Mr. Moncur, of Aberbrothick, had agreed to assist me at the +Sacrament, and will doubtless still lend his services. Mr. Carfrae or +Mr. Trail will take my place if my successor is not elected by that +time. The Sacrament cups are in the vestry press, of which you will +find the key beneath the clock in my parlor. The tokens are in the +topmost drawer in my bedroom. + +"The weekly prayer-meeting will be held as usual on Thursday at eight +o'clock, and the elders will officiate. + +"It is my wish that the news of my death be broken to my mother by Mr. +Ogilvy, the schoolmaster, and by no other. You will say to him that +this is my solemn request, and that I bid him discharge it without +faltering and be of good cheer. + +"But if Mr. Ogilvy be not now alive, the news of my death will be +broken to my mother by my beloved wife. Last night I was married on +the hill, over the tongs, but with the sanction of God, to her whom +you call the Egyptian, and despite what has happened since then, of +which you will soon have knowledge, I here solemnly declare that she +is my wife, and you will seek for her at the Spittal or elsewhere till +you find her, and you will tell her to go to my mother and remain with +her always, for these are the commands of her husband." + +It was then that Gavin paused, for Lord Rintoul had that to say to him +which no longer could be kept back. All the women were crying sore, +and also some men whose eyes had been dry at the coffining of their +children. + +"Now I ken," said Cruickshanks, who had been an atheist, "that it's +only the fool wha' says in his heart, 'There is no God.'" + +Another said, "That's a man." + +Another said, "That man has a religion to last him all through." + +A fourth said, "Behold, the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand." + +A fifth said, "That's our minister. He's the minister o' the Auld +Licht Kirk o' Thrums. Woe is me, we're to lose him." + +Many cried, "Our hearts was set hard against him. O Lord, are you +angry wi' your servants that you're taking him frae us just when we +ken what he is?" + +Gavin did not hear them, and again he spoke: + +"My brethren, God is good. I have just learned that my wife is with my +dear mother at the manse. I leave them in your care and in His." + +No more he said of Babbie, for the island was become very small. + +"The Lord calls me hence. It is only for a little time I have been +with you, and now I am going away, and you will know me no more. Too +great has been my pride because I was your minister, but He who sent +me to labor among you is slow to wrath; and He ever bore in mind that +you were my first charge. My people, I must say to you, 'Farewell.'" + +Then, for the first time, his voice faltered, and wanting to go on he +could not. "Let us read," he said, quickly, "in the Word of God in the +fourteenth of Matthew, from the twenty-eighth verse." + +He repeated these four verses:-- + +"'And Peter answered Him and said, Lord, if it be Thou, bid me come +unto Thee on the water. + +"'And He said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he +walked on the water, to go to Jesus. + +"'But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to +sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me. + +"'And immediately Jesus stretched forth His hand and caught him, and +said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?'" + +After this Gavin's voice was again steady, and he said, "The +sand-glass is almost run out. Dearly beloved, with what words shall I +bid you good-by?" + +Many thought that these were to be the words, for the mist parted, and +they saw the island tremble and half of it sink. + +"My people," said the voice behind the mist, "this is the text I leave +with you: 'Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth +and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal; but +lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust +doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal.' That +text I read in the flood, where the hand of God has written it. All +the pound-notes in the world would not dam this torrent for a moment, +so that we might pass over to you safely. Yet it is but a trickle of +water, soon to be dried up. Verily, I say unto you, only a few hours +ago the treasures of earth stood between you and this earl, and what +are they now compared to this trickle of water? God only can turn +rivers into a wilderness, and the water-springs into dry ground. Let +His Word be a lamp unto your feet and a light unto your path; may He +be your refuge and your strength. Amen." + +This amen he said quickly, thinking death was now come. He was seen to +raise his hands, but whether to Heaven or involuntarily to protect his +face as he fell none was sure, for the mist again filled the chasm. +Then came a clap of stillness. No one breathed. + +But the two men were not yet gone, and Gavin spoke once more. + +"Let us sing in the twenty-third Psalm." + +He himself raised the tune, and so long as they heard his voice they +sang-- + + "The Lord's my shepherd, I'll not want; + He makes me down to lie + In pastures green; He leadeth me + The quiet waters by. + + "My soul He doth restore again; + And me to walk doth make + Within the paths of righteousness + Ev'n for His own name's sake. + + "Yea, though I walk in Death's dark vale, + Yet will I fear none ill; + For Thou art with me; and Thy rod + And staff----" + +But some had lost the power to sing in the first verse, and others at +"Death's dark vale," and when one man found himself singing alone he +stopped abruptly. This was because they no longer heard the minister. + +"O Lord!" Peter Tosh cried, "lift the mist, for it's mair than we can +bear." + +The mist rose slowly, and those who had courage to look saw Gavin +praying with the earl. Many could not look, and some of them did not +even see Rob Dow jump. + +For it was Dow, the man with the crushed leg, who saved Gavin's life, +and flung away his own for it. Suddenly he was seen on the edge of the +bank, holding one end of the improvised rope in his hand. As Tosh +says-- + +"It all happened in the opening and shutting o' an eye. It's a queer +thing to say, but though I prayed to God to take awa the mist, when He +did raise it I couldna look. I shut my een tight, and held my arm +afore my face, like ane feared o' being struck. Even when I daured to +look, my arm was shaking so that I could see Rob both above it and +below it. He was on the edge, crouching to leap. I didna see wha had +haud o' the other end o' the rope. I heard the minister cry, 'No, Dow, +no!' and it gae through me as quick as a stab that if Rob jumped he +would knock them both into the water. But he did jump, and you ken how +it was that he didna knock them off." + +It was because he had no thought of saving his own life. He jumped, +not at the island, now little bigger than the seat of a chair, but at +the edge of it, into the foam, and with his arm outstretched. For a +second the hand holding the rope was on the dot of land. Gavin tried +to seize the hand; Rintoul clutched the rope. The earl and the +minister were dragged together into safety, and both left the water +senseless. Gavin was never again able to lift his left hand higher +than his head. Dow's body was found next day near the school-house. + + + + +Chapter Forty-Five. + +TALK OF A LITTLE MAID SINCE GROWN TALL. + + +My scholars have a game they call "The Little Minister," in which the +boys allow the girls as a treat to join. Some of the characters in the +real drama are omitted as of no importance--the dominie, for +instance--and the two best fighters insist on being Dow and Gavin. I +notice that the game is finished when Dow dives from a haystack, and +Gavin and the earl are dragged to the top of it by a rope. Though +there should be another scene, it is only a marriage, which the girls +have, therefore, to go through without the help of the boys. This +warns me that I have come to an end of my story for all except my +little maid. In the days when she sat on my knee and listened it had +no end, for after I told her how her father and mother were married a +second time she would say, "And then I came, didn't I? Oh, tell me +about me!" So it happened that when she was no higher than my staff +she knew more than I could write in another book, and many a time she +solemnly told me what I had told her, as-- + +"Would you like me to tell you a story? Well, it's about a minister, +and the people wanted to be bad to him, and then there was a flood, +and a flood is lochs falling instead of rain, and so of course he was +nearly drownded, and he preached to them till they liked him again, +and so they let him marry her, and they like her awful too, and, just +think! it was my father; and that's all. Now tell me about grandmother +when father came home." + +I told her once again that Margaret never knew how nearly Gavin was +driven from his kirk. For Margaret was as one who goes to bed in the +daytime and wakes in it, and is not told that there has been a black +night while she slept. She had seen her son leave the manse the idol +of his people, and she saw them rejoicing as they brought him back. Of +what occurred at the Jaws, as the spot where Dow had saved two lives +is now called, she learned, but not that these Jaws snatched him and +her from an ignominy more terrible than death, for she never knew that +the people had meditated driving him from his kirk. This Thrums is +bleak and perhaps forbidding, but there is a moment of the day when a +setting sun dyes it pink, and the people are like their town. Thrums +was never colder in times of snow than were his congregation to their +minister when the Great Rain began, but his fortitude rekindled their +hearts. He was an obstinate minister, and love had led him a dance, +but in the hour of trial he had proved himself a man. + +When Gavin reached the manse, and saw not only his mother but Babbie, +he would have kissed them both; but Babbie could only say, "She does +not know," and then run away crying. Gavin put his arm round his +mother, and drew her into the parlor, where he told her who Babbie +was. Now Margaret had begun to love Babbie already, and had prayed to +see Gavin happily married; but it was a long time before she went +upstairs to look for his wife and kiss her and bring her down. "Why +was it a long time?" my little maid would ask, and I had to tell her +to wait until she was old, and had a son, when she would find out for +herself. + +[Illustration: "BABBIE COULD ONLY SAY, 'SHE DOES NOT KNOW.'"] + +While Gavin and the earl were among the waters, two men were on +their way to Mr. Carfrae's home, to ask him to return with them and +preach the Auld Licht kirk of Thrums vacant; and he came, though now +so done that he had to be wheeled about in a little coach. He +came in sorrow, yet resolved to perform what was asked of him if +it seemed God's will; but, instead of banishing Gavin, all he had +to do was to remarry him and kirk him, both of which things he did, +sitting in his coach, as many can tell. Lang Tammas spoke no more +against Gavin, but he would not go to the marriage, and he insisted on +resigning his eldership for a year and a day. I think he only once +again spoke to Margaret. She was in the manse garden when he was +passing, and she asked him if he would tell her now why he had been +so agitated when he visited her on the day of the flood. He answered +gruffly, "It's no business o' yours." Dr. McQueen was Gavin's best +man. He died long ago of scarlet fever. So severe was the epidemic +that for a week he was never in bed. He attended fifty cases +without suffering, but as soon as he had bent over Hendry Munn's +youngest boys, who both had it, he said, "I'm smitted," and went +home to die. You may be sure that Gavin proved a good friend to +Micah Dow. I have the piece of slate on which Rob proved himself a +good friend to Gavin; it was in his pocket when we found the body. +Lord Rintoul returned to his English estates, and never revisited +the Spittal. The last thing I heard of him was that he had been +offered the Lord-Lieutenantship of a county, and had accepted it in +a long letter, in which he began by pointing out his unworthiness. +This undid him, for the Queen, or her councillors, thinking from his +first page that he had declined the honor, read no further, and +appointed another man. Waster Lunny is still alive, but has gone to +another farm. Sanders Webster, in his gratitude, wanted Nanny to +become an Auld Licht, but she refused, saying, "Mr. Dishart is worth +a dozen o' Mr. Duthie, and I'm terrible fond o' Mrs. Dishart, but +Established I was born and Established I'll remain till I'm carried +out o' this house feet foremost." + +"But Nanny went to Heaven for all that," my little maid told me. +"Jean says people can go to Heaven though they are not Auld Lichts, +but she says it takes them all their time. Would you like me to tell +you a story about my mother putting glass on the manse dike? Well, my +mother and my father is very fond of each other, and once they was in +the garden, and my father kissed my mother, and there was a woman +watching them over the dike, and she cried out--something naughty." + +"It was Tibbie Birse," I said, "and what she cried was, 'Mercy on us, +that's the third time in half an hour!' So your mother, who heard her, +was annoyed, and put glass on the wall." + +"But it's me that is telling you the story. You are sure you don't +know it? Well, they asked father to take the glass away, and he +wouldn't; but he once preached at mother for having a white feather in +her bonnet, and another time he preached at her for being too fond of +him. Jean told me. That's all." + +No one seeing Babbie going to church demurely on Gavin's arm could +guess her history. Sometimes I wonder whether the desire to be a gypsy +again ever comes over her for a mad hour, and whether, if so, Gavin +takes such measures to cure her as he threatened in Caddam Wood. I +suppose not; but here is another story: + +[Illustration: "THERE WAS A WOMAN WATCHING THEM OVER THE DIKE."] + +"When I ask mother to tell me about her once being a gypsy she says I +am a bad 'quisitive little girl, and to put on my hat and come with +her to the prayer-meeting; and when I asked father to let me see +mother's gypsy frock he made me learn Psalm forty-eight by heart. But +once I see'd it, and it was a long time ago, as long as a week ago. +Micah Dow gave me rowans to put in my hair, and I like Micah because +he calls me Miss, and so I woke in my bed because there was noises, +and I ran down to the parlor, and there was my mother in her gypsy +frock, and my rowans was in her hair, and my father was kissing +her, and when they saw me they jumped; and that's all." + +"Would you like me to tell you another story? It is about a little +girl. Well, there was once a minister and his wife, and they hadn't no +little girls, but just little boys, and God was sorry for them, so He +put a little girl in a cabbage in the garden, and when they found her +they were glad. Would you like me to tell you who the little girl was? +Well, it was me, and, ugh! I was awful cold in the cabbage. Do you +like that story?" + +"Yes; I like it best of all the stories I know." + +"So do I like it, too. Couldn't nobody help loving me, 'cause I'm so +nice? Why am I so fearful nice?" + +"Because you are like your grandmother." + +"It was clever of my father to know when he found me in the cabbage +that my name was Margaret. Are you sorry grandmother is dead?" + +"I am glad your mother and father were so good to her and made her so +happy." + +"Are you happy?" + +"Yes." + +"But when I am happy I laugh." + +"I am old, you see, and you are young." + +"I am nearly six. Did you love grandmother? Then why did you never +come to see her? Did grandmother know you was here? Why not? Why +didn't I not know about you till after grandmother died?" + +"I'll tell you when you are big." + +"Shall I be big enough when I am six?" + +"No, not till your eighteenth birthday." + +"But birthdays comes so slow. Will they come quicker when I am big?" + +"Much quicker." + +On her sixth birthday Micah Dow drove my little maid to the +school-house in the doctor's gig, and she crept beneath the table and +whispered-- + +"Grandfather!" + +"Father told me to call you that if I liked, and I like," she said +when I had taken her upon my knee. "I know why you kissed me just now. +It was because I looked like grandmother. Why do you kiss me when I +look like her?" + +"Who told you I did that?" + +"Nobody didn't tell me. I just found out. I loved grandmother too. She +told me all the stories she knew." + +"Did she ever tell you a story about a black dog?" + +"No. Did she know one?" + +"Yes, she knew it." + +"Perhaps she had forgotten it?" + +"No, she remembered it." + +"Tell it to me." + +"Not till you are eighteen." + +"But will you not be dead when I am eighteen? When you go to Heaven, +will you see grandmother?" + +"Yes." + +"Will she be glad to see you?" + +My little maid's eighteenth birthday has come, and I am still in +Thrums, which I love, though it is beautiful to none, perhaps, save to +the very done, who lean on their staves and look long at it, having +nothing else to do till they die. I have lived to rejoice in the +happiness of Gavin and Babbie; and if at times I have suddenly had to +turn away my head after looking upon them in their home surrounded by +their children, it was but a moment's envy that I could not help. +Margaret never knew of the dominie in the glen. They wanted to tell +her of me, but I would not have it. She has been long gone from this +world; but sweet memories of her still grow, like honeysuckle, up the +white walls of the manse, smiling in at the parlor window and +beckoning from the door, and for some filling all the air with +fragrance. It was not she who raised the barrier between her and me, +but God Himself; and to those who maintain otherwise, I say they do +not understand the purity of a woman's soul. During the years she was +lost to me her face ever came between me and ungenerous thoughts; and +now I can say, all that is carnal in me is my own, and all that is +good I got from her. Only one bitterness remains. When I found Gavin +in the rain, when I was fighting my way through the flood, when I saw +how the hearts of the people were turned against him--above all, when +I found Whamond in the manse--I cried to God, making promises to Him, +if He would spare the lad for Margaret's sake, and he spared him; but +these promises I have not kept. + +_The End._ + + * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber Note + +Table of Contents added. + +Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_. + +Greek transliterations are surrounded by ~tildes~. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little Minister, by J. M. 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