CHAPTER XIII.

Second coming of the Egyptian woman.

The gypsy had been passing the house, perhaps on her way to Thrums for gossip, and it was only curiosity, born suddenly of Gavin’s cry, that made her enter.  On finding herself in unexpected company she retained hold of the door, and to the amazed minister she seemed for a moment to have stepped into the mud house from his garden.  Her eyes danced, however, as they recognised him, and then he hardened.  “This is no place for you,” he was saying fiercely, when Nanny, too distraught to think, fell crying at the Egyptian’s feet.

“They are taking me to the poorhouse,” she sobbed; “dinna let them, dinna let them.”

The Egyptian’s arms clasped her, and the Egyptian kissed a sallow cheek that had once been as fair as yours, madam, who may read this story.  No one had caressed Nanny for many years, but do you think she was too poor and old to care for these young arms around her neck?  There are those who say that women cannot love each other, but it is not true.  Woman is not undeveloped man, but something better, and Gavin and the doctor knew it as they saw Nanny clinging to her protector.  When the gypsy turned with flashing eyes to the two men she might have been a mother guarding her child.

“How dare you!” she cried, stamping her foot; and they quaked like malefactors.

“You don’t see—­” Gavin began, but her indignation stopped him.

“You coward!” she said.

Even the doctor had been impressed, so that he now addressed the gypsy respectfully.

“This is all very well,” he said, “but a woman’s sympathy—­”

“A woman!—­ah, if I could be a man for only five minutes!”

She clenched her little fists, and again turned to Nanny.

“You poor dear,” she said tenderly, “I won’t let them take you away.”

She looked triumphantly at both minister and doctor, as one who had foiled them in their cruel designs.

“Go!” she said, pointing grandly to the door.

“Is this the Egyptian of the riots,” the doctor said in a low voice to Gavin, “or is she a queen?  Hoots, man, don’t look so shamefaced.  We are not criminals.  Say something.”

Then to the Egyptian Gavin said firmly—­

“You mean well, but you are doing this poor woman a cruelty in holding out hopes to her that cannot be realised.  Sympathy is not meal and bedclothes, and these are what she needs.”

“And you who live in luxury,” retorted the girl, “would send her to the poorhouse for them.  I thought better of you!”

“Tuts!” said the doctor, losing patience, “Mr. Dishart gives more than any other man in Thrums to the poor, and he is not to be preached to by a gypsy.  We are waiting for you, Nanny.”

“Ay, I’m coming,” said Nanny, leaving the Egyptian.  “I’ll hae to gang, lassie.  Dinna greet for me.”