by J. M. Barrie
Chapter Twenty-Eight.
THE HILL BEFORE DARKNESS FELL--SCENE OF THE IMPENDING CATASTROPHE.
"You are better now?" I heard Gavin ask, presently.
He thought that having been taken ill suddenly I had waved to him forhelp because he chanced to be near. With all my wits about me I mighthave left him in that belief, for rather would I have deceived himthan had him wonder why his welfare seemed so vital to me. But I, whothought the capacity for being taken aback had gone from me, clung tohis arm and thanked God audibly that he still lived. He did not tellme then how my agitation puzzled him, but led me kindly to the hill,where we could talk without listeners. By the time we reached it I wasagain wary, and I had told him what had brought me to Thrums, withoutmentioning how the story of his death reached my ears, or throughwhom.
"Mr. McKenzie," he said, interrupting me, "galloped all the way fromthe Spittal on the same errand. However, no one has been hurt much,except the piper himself."
Then he told me how the rumor arose.
"You know of the incident at the Spittal, and that Campbell marchedoff in high dudgeon? I understand that he spoke to no one between theSpittal and Thrums, but by the time he arrived here he was morecommunicative; yes, and thirstier. He was treated to drink in severalpublic-houses by persons who wanted to hear his story, and by-and-byhe began to drop hints of knowing something against the earl's bride.Do you know Rob Dow?"
"Yes," I answered, "and what you have done for him."
"Ah, sir!" he said, sighing, "for a long time I thought I was to beGod's instrument in making a better man of Rob, but my power over himwent long ago. Ten short months of the ministry takes some of thevanity out of a man."
Looking sideways at him I was startled by the unnatural brightness ofhis eyes. Unconsciously he had acquired the habit of pressing histeeth together in the pauses of his talk, shutting them on some woethat would proclaim itself, as men do who keep their misery tothemselves.
"A few hours ago," he went on, "I heard Rob's voice in altercation asI passed the Bull tavern, and I had a feeling that if I failed withhim so should I fail always throughout my ministry. I walked into thepublic-house, and stopped at the door of a room in which Dow and thepiper were sitting drinking. I heard Rob saying, fiercely, 'If whatyou say about her is true, Highlandman, she's the woman I've beenlooking for this half year and mair; what is she like?' I guessed,from what I had been told of the piper, that they were speaking of theearl's bride; but Rob saw me and came to an abrupt stop, saying to hiscompanion, 'Dinna say another word about her afore the minister.' Robwould have come away at once in answer to my appeal, but the piper wasdrunk and would not be silenced. 'I'll tell the minister about her,too,' he began. 'You dinna ken what you're doing,' Rob roared, andthen, as if to save my ears from scandal at any cost, he struckCampbell a heavy blow on the mouth. I tried to intercept the blow,with the result that I fell, and then some one ran out of the taverncrying, 'He's killed!' The piper had been stunned, but the story wentabroad that he had stabbed me for interfering with him. That is reallyall. Nothing, as you know, can overtake an untruth if it has aminute's start."
"Where is Campbell now?"
"Sleeping off the effect of the blow: but Dow has fled. He wasterrified at the shouts of murder, and ran off up the West Town end.The doctor's dogcart was standing at a door there and Rob jumped intoit and drove off. They did not chase him far, because he is sure tohear the truth soon, and then, doubtless, he will come back."
Though in a few hours we were to wonder at our denseness, neitherGavin nor I saw why Dow had struck the Highlander down rather than lethim tell his story in the minister's presence. One moment's suspicionwould have lit our way to the whole truth, but of the spring to allRob's behavior in the past eight months we were ignorant, and so toGavin the Bull had only been the scene of a drunken brawl, while Iforgot to think in the joy of finding him alive.
"I have a prayer-meeting for rain presently," Gavin said, breaking apicture that had just appeared unpleasantly before me of Babbie stillin agony at Nanny's, "but before I leave you tell me why this rumorcaused you such distress."
The question troubled me, and I tried to avoid it. Crossing the hillwe had by this time drawn near a hollow called the Toad's-hole, thengay and noisy with a caravan of gypsies. They were those same wildLindsays, for whom Gavin had searched Caddam one eventful night, andas I saw them crowding round their king, a man well known to me, Iguessed what they were at.
"Mr. Dishart," I said abruptly, "would you like to see a gypsymarriage? One is taking place there just now. That big fellow is theking, and he is about to marry two of his people over the tongs. Theceremony will not detain us five minutes, though the rejoicings willgo on all night."
I have been present at more than one gypsy wedding in my time, and atthe wild, weird orgies that followed them, but what is interesting tosuch as I may not be for a minister's eyes, and, frowning at myproposal, Gavin turned his back upon the Toad's-hole. Then, as werecrossed the hill, to get away from the din of the camp, I pointedout to him that the report of his death had brought McKenzie toThrums, as well as me.
"As soon as McKenzie heard I was not dead," he answered, "he gallopedoff to the Spittal, without even seeing me. I suppose he posted backto be in time for the night's rejoicings there. So you see, it was notsolicitude for me that brought him. He came because a servant at theSpittal was supposed to have done the deed."
"Well, Mr. Dishart," I had to say, "why should I deny that I have awarm regard for you? You have done brave work in our town."
"It has been little," he replied. "With God's help it will be more infuture."
He meant that he had given time to his sad love affair that he owed tohis people. Of seeing Babbie again I saw that he had given up hope.Instead of repining, he was devoting his whole soul to God's work. Iwas proud of him, and yet I grieved, for I could not think that Godwanted him to bury his youth so soon.
"I had thought," he confessed to me, "that you were one of those whodid not like my preaching."
"You were mistaken," I said, gravely. I dared not tell him that,except his mother, none would have sat under him so eagerly as I.
"Nevertheless," he said, "you were a member of the Auld Licht churchin Mr. Carfrae's time, and you left it when I came."
"I heard your first sermon," I said.
"Ah," he replied. "I had not been long in Thrums before I discoveredthat if I took tea with any of my congregation and declined a secondcup, they thought it a reflection on their brewing."
"You must not look upon my absence in that light," was all I couldsay. "There are reasons why I cannot come."
He did not press me further, thinking I meant that the distance wastoo great, though frailer folk than I walked twenty miles to hear him.We might have parted thus had we not wandered by chance to the veryspot where I had met him and Babbie. There is a seat there now forthose who lose their breath on the climb up, and so I have two reasonsnowadays for not passing the place by.
We read each other's thoughts, and Gavin said calmly, "I have not seenher since that night. She disappeared as into a grave."
How could I answer when I knew that Babbie was dying for want of him,not half a mile away?
"You seemed to understand everything that night," he went on; "or ifyou did not, your thoughts were very generous to me."
In my sorrow for him I did not notice that we were moving on again,this time in the direction of Windyghoul.
"She was only a gypsy girl," he said, abruptly, and I nodded. "But Ihoped," he continued, "that she would be my wife."
"I understood that," I said.
"There was nothing monstrous to you," he asked, looking me in theface, "in a minister's marrying a gypsy?"
I own that if I had loved a girl, however far below or above me indegree, I would have married her had she been willing to take me. Butto Gavin I only answered, "These are matters a man must decide forhimself."
"I had decided for myself," he said, emphatically.
"A man's marriage," he answered, "is his own affair, I would havebrooked no interference from my congregation."
I thought, "There is some obstinacy left in him still;" but aloud Isaid, "It was of your mother I was thinking."
"She would have taken Babbie to her heart," he said, with the fondconviction of a lover.
I doubted it, but I only asked, "Your mother knows nothing of her?"
"Nothing," he rejoined. "It would be cruelty to tell my mother of hernow that she is gone."
Gavin's calmness had left him, and he was striding quickly nearer toWindyghoul. I was in dread lest he should see the Egyptian at Nanny'sdoor, yet to have turned him in another direction might have rousedhis suspicions. When we were within a hundred yards of the mudhouse, Iknew that there was no Babbie in sight. We halved the distance andthen I saw her at the open window. Gavin's eyes were on the ground,but she saw him. I held my breath, fearing that she would run out tohim.
"You have never seen her since that night?" Gavin asked me, withouthope in his voice.
Had he been less hopeless he would have wondered why I did not replyimmediately. I was looking covertly at the mudhouse, of which we werenow within a few yards. Babbie's face had gone from the window, andthe door remained shut. That she could hear every word we uttered now,I could not doubt. But she was hiding from the man for whom her soullonged. She was sacrificing herself for him.
"Never," I answered, notwithstanding my pity of the brave girl, andthen while I was shaking lest he should go in to visit Nanny, I heardthe echo of the Auld Licht bell.
"That calls me to the meeting for rain," Gavin said, bidding megood-night. I had acted for Margaret, and yet I had hardly theeffrontery to take his hand. I suppose he saw sympathy in my face, forsuddenly the cry broke from him--
"If I could only know that nothing evil had befallen her!"
Babbie heard him and could not restrain a heart-breaking sob.
"What was that?" he said, starting.
A moment I waited, to let her show herself if she chose. But themudhouse was silent again.
"It was some boy in the wood," I answered.
"Good-bye," he said, trying to smile.
Had I let him go, here would have been the end of his love story, butthat piteous smile unmanned me, and I could not keep the words back.
"She is in Nanny's house," I cried.
In another moment these two were together for weal or woe, and I hadset off dizzily for the school-house, feeling now that I had beenfalse to Margaret, and again exulting in what I had done. By and bythe bell stopped, and Gavin and Babbie regarded it as little as Iheeded the burns now crossing the glen road noisily at places that hadbeen dry two hours before.
