“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.”