“Ah, yes, I hope you will catch her, sergeant.”

“Sergeant,” said Gavin, firmly, “I must—­”

“You must, indeed, dear,” said the Egyptian, “for you are sadly tired.  Good-night, sergeant.”

“Your servant, Mrs. Dishart.  Your servant, sir.”

“But—­,” cried Gavin.

“Come, love,” said the Egyptian, and she walked the distracted minister through the soldiers and up the manse road.

The soldiers left behind, Gavin flung her arm from him, and, standing still, shook his fist in her face.

“You—­you—­woman!” he said.

This, I think, was the last time he called her a woman.

But she was clapping her hands merrily.

“It was beautiful!” she exclaimed.

“It was iniquitous!” he answered.  “And I a minister!”

“You can’t help that,” said the Egyptian, who pitied all ministers heartily.

“No,” Gavin said, misunderstanding her, “I could not help it.  No blame attaches to me.”

“I meant that you could not help being a minister, You could have helped saving me, and I thank you so much.”

“Do not dare to thank me.  I forbid you to say that I saved you.  I did my best to hand you over to the authorities.”

“Then why did you not hand me over?”

Gavin groaned.

“All you had to say,” continued the merciless Egyptian, “was, ‘This is the person you are in search of.’  I did not have my hand over your mouth.  Why did you not say it?”

“Forbear!” said Gavin, woefully.

“It must have been,” the gypsy said, “because you really wanted to help me.”

“Then it was against my better judgment,” said Gavin.

“I am glad of that,” said the gypsy.  “Mr. Dishart, I do believe you like me all the time.”

“Can a man like a woman against his will?” Gavin blurted out.

“Of course he can,” said the Egyptian, speaking as one who knew.  “That is the very nicest way to be liked.”

Seeing how agitated Gavin was, remorse filled her, and she said in a wheedling voice—­

“It is all over, and no one will know.”

Passion sat on the minister’s brow, but he said nothing, for the gypsy’s face had changed with her voice, and the audacious woman was become a child.

“I am very sorry,” she said, as if he had caught her stealing jam.  The hood had fallen back, and she looked pleadingly at him.  She had the appearance of one who was entirely in his hands.

There was a torrent of words in Gavin, but only these trickled forth—­

“I don’t understand you.”

“You are not angry any more?” pleaded the Egyptian.

“Angry!” he cried, with the righteous rage of one who when his leg is being sawn off is asked gently if it hurts him.

“I know you are,’ she sighed, and the sigh meant that men are strange.

“Have you no respect for law and order?” demanded Gavin.