“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.”