But his troubles were not over.  He had just lifted his ewer of water when these words from the kitchen capsized it:—­

“Ay, an Egyptian.  That’s what the auld folk call a gypsy.  Weel, Mrs. Dishart, she led police and sojers sic a dance through Thrums as would baffle description, though I kent the fits and fors o’t as I dinna.  Ay, but they gripped her in the end, and the queer thing is—­”

Gavin listened to no more.  He suddenly sat down.  The queer thing, of course, was that she had been caught in his garden.  Yes, and doubtless queerer things about this hussy and her “husband” were being bawled from door to door.  To the girl’s probable sufferings he gave no heed.  What kind of man had he been a few hours ago to yield to the machinations of a woman who was so obviously the devil?  Now he saw his folly in the face.

The tray in Jean’s hands clattered against the dresser, and Gavin sprang from his chair.  He thought it was his elders at the front door.

In the parlour he found Margaret sorrowing for those whose mates had been torn from them, and Jean with a face flushed by talk.  On ordinary occasions the majesty of the minister still cowed Jean, so that she could only gaze at him without shaking when in church, and then because she wore a veil.  In the manse he was for taking a glance at sideways and then going away comforted, as a respectable woman may once or twice in a day look at her brooch in the pasteboard box as a means of helping her with her work.  But with such a to-do in Thrums, and she the possessor of exclusive information, Jean’s reverence for Gavin only took her to-day as far as the door, where she lingered half in the parlour and half in the lobby, her eyes turned politely from the minister, but her ears his entirely.

“I thought I heard Jean telling you about the capture of the—­of an Egyptian woman,” Gavin said to his mother, nervously.

“Did you cry to me?” Jean asked, turning round longingly.  “But maybe the mistress will tell you about the Egyptian hersel.”

“Has she been taken to Tilliedrum?” Gavin asked in a hollow voice.

“Sup up your porridge, Gavin,” Margaret said.  “I’ll have no speaking about this terrible night till you’ve eaten something.”

“I have no appetite,” the minister replied, pushing his plate from him.  “Jean, answer me.”

“’Deed, then,” said Jean willingly, “they hinna ta’en her to Tilliedrum.”

“For what reason?” asked Gavin, his dread increasing.

“For the reason that they couldna catch her,” Jean answered.  “She spirited hersel awa’, the magerful crittur.”

“What!  But I heard you say——­”

“Ay, they had her aince, but they couldna keep her.  It’s like a witch story.  They had her safe in the townhouse, and baith shirra and captain guarding her, and syne in a clink she wasna there.  A’ nicht they looked for her, but she hadna left so muckle as a foot-print ahint her, and in the tail of the day they had to up wi’ their tap in their lap and march awa without her.”