“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!”