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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5093.txt b/5093.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c735e8e --- /dev/null +++ b/5093.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14692 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little Minister, by J.M. Barrie +(#7 in our series by J.M. Barrie) + + +******************************************************************* +THERE IS AN IMPROVED ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF THIS TITLE WHICH MAY BE +VIEWED AS EBOOK (#33901) at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33901 +******************************************************************* + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Little Minister + +Author: J.M. Barrie + +Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5093] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on April 24, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE LITTLE MINISTER *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed +Proofreading team. + + + +THE LITTLE MINISTER + +BY + +J. M. BARRIE + +AUTHOR OF + +"WINDOW IN THRUMS," "AULD LIGHT IDYLLS," "WHEN A MAN'S SINGLE." +ETC. + + + + + + CONTENTS. + +CHAPTER + I. The Love-Light + II. Runs Alongside the Making of a Minister + III. The Night-Watchers + IV. First Coming of the Egyptian Woman + V. A Warlike Chapter, Culminating in the Flouting of the + Minister by the Woman + VI. In which the Soldiers Meet the Amazons of Thrums + VII. Has the Folly of Looking into a Woman's Eyes by Way of Text + VIII. 3 A.M.--Monstrous Audacity of the Woman + IX. The Woman Considered in Absence--Adventures of a Military Cloak + X. First Sermon against Women + XI. Tells in a Whisper of Man's Fall during the Curling Season + XII. Tragedy of a Mud House + XIII. Second Coming of the Egyptian Woman + XIV. The Minister Dances to the Woman's Piping + XV. The Minister Bewitched--Second Sermon against Women + XVI. Continued Misbehavior of the Egyptian Woman + XVII. Intrusion of Haggart into these Pages against the Author's Wish + XVIII. Caddam--Love Leading to a Rupture + XIX. Circumstances Leading to the First Sermon in Approval of Women + XX. End of the State of Indecision + XXI. Night--Margaret--Flashing of a Lantern + XXII. Lovers + XXIII. Contains a Birth, Which is Sufficient for One Chapter + XXIV. The New World, and the Women who may not Dwell therein + XXV. Beginning of the Twenty-four Hours + XXVI. Scene at the Spittal + XXVII. First Journey of the Dominie to Thrums during the Twenty-four Hours + XXVIII. The Hill before Darkness Fell--Scene of the Impending Catastrophe + XXIX. Story of the Egyptian + XXX. The Meeting for Rain + XXXI. Various Bodies Converging on the Hill + XXXII. Leading Swiftly to the Appalling Marriage + XXXIII. While the Ten o'Clock Bell was Ringing + XXXIV. The Great Rain + XXXV. The Glen at Break of Day + XXXVI. Story of the Dominie + XXXVII. Second Journey of the Dominie to Thrums during the Twenty-four Hours +XXXVIII. Thrums during the Twenty-four Hours--Defence of the Manse + XXXIX. How Babbie Spent the Night of August Fourth + XL. Babbie and Margaret--Defence of the Manse continued + XLI. Rintoui and Babbie--Break-down of the Defence of the Manse + XLII. Margaret, the Precentor, and God between + XLIII. Rain--Mist--The Jaws + XLIV. End of the Twenty-four Hours + XLV. Talk of a Little Maid since Grown Tall + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +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. + +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 phanton 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. + +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 +anyone 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 II. + +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 it 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 glen-garry 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 III. + +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 him-self 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 northeast, 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 awing +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 coining 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 bed-room, +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 preserves!" 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 bed-room, but bells were novelties to her as well +as to Margaret, and she cried, excitedly, "What is it?" 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 rnysel', +'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 IV. + +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 me 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 book-shelves 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 someone 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. + +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 Windy +ghoul, 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 + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +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 re-lit the fire, +having nothing else to do, and boiled the kettle, while Margaret +wandered in anguish from room to room. + +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 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. 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. + +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 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 townhouse 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 Windy ghoul 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 anless you do one thing." + +"What is 't?" + +"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 VI. + +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 east-ward, 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 bread-winners 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 country- +side. 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 cartload 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 yon 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?" + +"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 Weary. world, 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 Weary-world 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 VII. + +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 tolled 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. + +"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? Captains 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 VIII. + +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 Weary world, 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 nest 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 witfe 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." + +"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 lie 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. + +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." + +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 IX. + +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 Magaret'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 townhouse, 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 bed-room, 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 overtaken 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 X. + +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 schoolhouse 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 intermittingly 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 XI. + +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 dog-cart 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 dog- +cart, 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 dog-cart 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 dog-cart. "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 +dog-cart, 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 dog-cart 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 XII. + +TRAGEDY OF A MUD HOUSE. + + +THE dog-cart 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 yon 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 dog-cart 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 today." + +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 anyone. 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 dog-cart, 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 +mud-house door. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +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 tomorrow 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 dog-cart. + +"And, Mr. Dishart," he called out, "that was all nonsense about +the locket." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +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." + +"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, men, 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." + +Then the two women fell into their seats; Nanny in terror, Babbie +affecting it. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +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. + +"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." + +"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 XVI. + +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 is 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 XVII. + +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 drunken scoundrel!" after him. "He may be a +wee drunk," said Micah in his father's defense, "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 Weary world, "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 XVIII. + +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." + +Babble 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 XIX. + +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 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 XX. + +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 far 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 poor-house, 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 a 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 fears 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 XXI. + +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? Tonight 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." + +"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." 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 XXII. + +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 one," 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 for-got 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. Dis-bart 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 XXIII. + +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 ba 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. + +"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 XXIV. + +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. + +"Because you're so bonny," Micah whispered across the dyke. Her +tears gave him courage. "You might 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 lie's roaring fou I have to +sleep in the wood, and it's awful 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. + +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 XXV. + +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 women-folk +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 anything 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 times, '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 XXVI. + +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 Walter 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 Licit 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 XXVII. + +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 home-coming 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 any thing 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 +mud-house 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 XXVIII. + +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 ever seeing me. I suppose he +posted back to be in time for the night's rejoicings there. So you +see, it was no 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 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 Babbit 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 no +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 saw 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 heartbreaking 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 XXIX. + +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 birthright, 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 +school-mistress 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 XXX. + +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?" + +"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, Tamtnas," 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 XXXI. + +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 +taken 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 XXXII. + +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 in 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 XXXIII. + +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 maried 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, McZenzie?" + +"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 cause +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 XXXIV. + +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 XXXV. + +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 tabbit'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 corn-field 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--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 XXXVI. + +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, 'IIater haemon ho en tois ohuranois,' +and to me, behind the door, it was music. But at agiasthaeto, 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 that, and every penny of it is yours.'" + +"He flung two bags of gold upon the table, and their 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 XXXVII + +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 half-way on its +voyage to the sea. I think the lid gave way tinder 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." + + + + 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, Erne 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 I 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. "Ob, 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 Henry 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 wait 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?" + +"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. + + + + 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 +Caddani 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 XL. + +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 any 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 XLI. + +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 fare, "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." + +"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 bad 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 XLII. + +MARGARET, THE PRECENTOR. AND GOD BETWEEN. + + +Unless Andrew Luke, who went to Canadas 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, 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 thitik 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 myself, '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 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 sweat 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 ap 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 XLIII. + +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 of 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. + +"Rintotil 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, has 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 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 turn 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 XLIV. + +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 Ms 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. + + + + 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. + +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: + +"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 + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE LITTLE MINISTER *** + +This file should be named 5093.txt or 5093.zip + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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