“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.