“I have already stayed too long,” she said.  “Give my love to Nanny, and say that I am coming to see her soon, perhaps on Monday.  I don’t suppose you will be there on Monday, Mr. Dishart?”

“I—­I cannot say.”

“No, you will be too busy.  Are you to take the holly berries?”

“I had better not,” said Gavin, dolefully.

“Oh, if you don’t want them—­”

“Give them to me,” he said, and as he took them his hand shook.

“I know why you are looking so troubled,” said the Egyptian, archly.  “You think I am to ask you the colour of my eyes, and you have forgotten again.”

He would have answered, but she checked him.

“Make no pretence,” she said, severely; “I know you think they are blue.”

She came close to him until her face almost touched his.

“Look hard at them,” she said, solemnly, “and after this you may remember that they are black, black, black!”

At each repetition of the word she shook her head in his face.  She was adorable.  Gavin’s arms—­but they met on nothing.  She had run away.

When the little minister had gone, a man came from behind a tree and shook his fist in the direction taken by the gypsy.  It was Rob Dow, black with passion.

“It’s the Egyptian!” he cried.  “You limmer, wha are you that hae got haud o’ the minister?”

He pursued her, but she vanished as from Gavin is Windyghoul.

“A common Egyptian!” he muttered when he had to give up the search.  “But take care, you little devil,” he called aloud; “take care; if I catch you playing pranks wi’ that man again I’ll wring your neck like a hen’s!”

CHAPTER XVII.

Intrusion of Haggart into these pages against the author’s wish.

Margaret having heard the doctor say that one may catch cold in the back, had decided instantly to line Gavin’s waistcoat with flannel.  She was thus engaged, with pins in her mouth and the scissors hiding from her every time she wanted them, when Jean, red and flurried, abruptly entered the room.

“There!  I forgot to knock at the door again,” Jean exclaimed, pausing contritely.

“Never mind.  Is it Rob Dow wanting the minister?” asked Margaret, who had seen Rob pass the manse dyke.

“Na, he wasna wanting to see the minister.”

“Ah, then, he came to see you, Jean,” said Margaret, archly.

“A widow man!” cried Jean, tossing her head.  “But Rob Dow was in no condition to be friendly wi’ onybody the now.”

“Jean, you don’t mean that he has been drinking again?”

“I canna say he was drunk.”

“Then what condition was he in?”

“He was in a—­a swearing condition,” Jean answered, guardedly. 
“But what I want to speir at you is, can I gang down to the
Tenements for a minute?  I’ll run there and back.”