“Oh, Mr. Dishart, look at the mistress!  I couldna keep her in the manse.”

Gavin saw his mother beside him, bare-headed, trembling.

“How could I sit still, Gavin, and the town full o’ the skirls of women and bairns?  Oh, Gavin, what can I do for them?  They will suffer most this night.”

As Gavin took her hand he knew that Margaret felt for the people more than he.

“But you must go home, mother,” he said, “and leave me to do my duty.  I will take you myself if you will not go with Jean.  Be careful of her, Jean.”

“Ay, will I,” Jean answered, then burst into tears.  “Mr. Dishart,"’ she cried, “if they take my father they’d best take my mither too.”

The two women went back to the manse, where Jean re-lit the fire, having nothing else to do, and boiled the kettle, while Margaret wandered in anguish from room to room.

Men nearly naked ran past Gavin, seeking to escape from Thrums by the fields he had descended.  When he shouted to them they only ran faster.  A Tillyloss weaver whom he tried to stop struck him savagely and sped past to the square.  In Bank Street, which was full move.  He had heard the horn.  Thrice it sounded, and thrice it struck him to the heart.  He looked again and saw a shadow stealing along the Tenements, then, another, then half-a-dozen.  He remembered Mr. Carfrae’s words, “If you ever hear that horn, I implore you to hasten to the square,” and in another minute he had reached the Tenements.

Now again he saw the gypsy.  She ran past him, half-a-score of men, armed with staves and pikes, at her heels.  At first he thought they were chasing her. but they were following her as a leader.  Her eyes sparkled as she waved them to the square with her arms.

“The soldiers, the soldiers!” was the universal cry.

“Who is that woman?” demanded Gavin, catching hold of a frightened old man.

“Curse the Egyptian limmer,” the man answered, “she’s egging my laddie on to fecht.”

“Bless her rather,” the son cried, “for warning us that the sojers is coming.  Put your ear to the ground, Mr. Dishart, and you’ll hear the dirl o’ their feet.”

The young man rushed away to the square, flinging his father from him.  Gavin followed.  As he turned into the school wynd, the town drum began to beat, windows were thrown open, and sullen men ran out of closes where women were screaming and trying to hold them back.  At the foot of the wynd Gavin passed Sanders Webster.

“Mr. Dishart,” the mole-catcher cried, “hae you seen that Egyptian?  May I be struck dead if it’s no’ her little leddyship.”

But Gavin did not hear him. thing in the world to him.  Only while she passed did he see her as a gleam of colour, a gypsy elf poorly clad, her bare feet flashing beneath a short green skirt, a twig of rowan berries stuck carelessly into her black hair.  Her face was pale.  She had an angel’s loveliness.  Gavin shook.