“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.”