Chapter Twenty-Seven.
FIRST JOURNEY OF THE DOMINIE TO THRUMS DURING THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.
"How did it happen?" I asked more than once, but the Egyptian was onlywith me in the body, and she did not hear. I might have been talkingto some one a mile away whom a telescope had drawn near my eyes.
When I put on my bonnet, however, she knew that I was going to Thrums,and she rose and walked to the door, looking behind to see that Ifollowed.
"You must not come," I said harshly, but her hand started to her heartas if I had shot her, and I added quickly, "Come." We were alreadysome distance on our way before I repeated my question.
"What matter how it happened?" she answered piteously, and they werewords of which I felt the force. But when she said a little later, "Ithought you would say it is not true," I took courage, and forced herto tell me all she knew. She sobbed while she spoke, if one may sobwithout tears.
"I heard of it at the Spittal," she said. "The news broke out suddenlythere that the piper had quarrelled with some one in Thrums, and thatin trying to separate them Mr. Dishart was stabbed. There is no doubtof its truth."
"We should have heard of it here," I said hopefully, "before the newsreached the Spittal. It cannot be true."
"It was brought to the Spittal," she answered, "by the hill road."
Then my spirits sank again, for I knew that this was possible. Thereis a path, steep but short, across the hills between Thrums and thetop of the glen, which Mr. Glendinning took frequently when he had topreach at both places on the same Sabbath. It is still called theMinister's Road.
"Yet if the earl had believed it he would have sent some one intoThrums for particulars," I said, grasping at such comfort as I couldmake.
"He does believe it," she answered. "He told me of it himself."
You see the Egyptian was careless of her secret now; but what was thatsecret to me? An hour ago it would have been much, and already it wasnot worth listening to. If she had begun to tell me why Lord Rintoultook a gypsy girl into his confidence I should not have heard her.
"I ran quickly," she said. "Even if a messenger was sent he might bebehind me."
Was it her words or the tramp of a horse that made us turn our headsat that moment? I know not. But far back in a twist of the road we sawa horseman approaching at such a reckless pace that I thought he wason a runaway. We stopped instinctively, and waited for him, and twicehe disappeared in hollows of the road, and then was suddenly tearingdown upon us. I recognised in him young Mr. McKenzie, a relative ofRintoul, and I stretched out my arms to compel him to draw up. Hemisunderstood my motive, and was raising his whip threateningly, whenhe saw the Egyptian. It is not too much to say that he swayed in thesaddle. The horse galloped on, though he had lost hold of the reins.He looked behind until he rounded a corner, and I never saw suchamazement mixed with incredulity on a human face. For some minutes Iexpected to see him coming back, but when he did not I saidwonderingly to the Egyptian--
"He knew you."
"Did he?" she answered indifferently, and I think we spoke no moreuntil we were in Windyghoul. Soon we were barely conscious of eachother's presence. Never since have I walked between the school-houseand Thrums in so short a time, nor seen so little on the way.
In the Egyptian's eyes, I suppose, was a picture of Gavin lying dead;but if her grief had killed her thinking faculties, mine, that wasonly less keen because I had been struck down once before, had set allthe wheels of my brain in action. For it seemed to me that the hourhad come when I must disclose myself to Margaret.
I had realised always that if such a necessity did arise it could onlybe caused by Gavin's premature death, or by his proving a bad son toher. Some may wonder that I could have looked calmly thus far into thepossible, but I reply that the night of Adam Dishart's homecoming hadmade of me a man whom the future could not surprise again. Though Isaw Gavin and his mother happy in our Auld Licht manse, that did notprevent my considering the contingencies which might leave her withouta son. In the school-house I had brooded over them as one may thinkover moves on a draught-board. It may have been idle, but it was donethat I might know how to act best for Margaret if anything untowardoccurred. The time for such action had come. Gavin's death had struckme hard, but it did not crush me. I was not unprepared. I was going toMargaret now.
What did I see as I walked quickly along the glen road, with Babbiesilent by my side, and I doubt not pods of the broom cracking allaround us? I saw myself entering the Auld Licht manse, where Margaretsat weeping over the body of Gavin, and there was none to break mycoming to her, for none but she and I knew what had been.
I saw my Margaret again, so fragile now, so thin the wrists, her hairturned grey. No nearer could I go, but stopped at the door, grievingfor her, and at last saying her name aloud.
I saw her raise her face, and look upon me for the first time foreighteen years. She did not scream at sight of me, for the body of herson lay between us, and bridged the gulf that Adam Dishart had made.
I saw myself draw near her reverently and say, "Margaret, he is dead,and that is why I have come back," and I saw her put her arms aroundmy neck as she often did long ago.
But it was not to be. Never since that night at Harvie have I spokento Margaret.
The Egyptian and I were to come to Windyghoul before I heard herspeak. She was not addressing me. Here Gavin and she had met first,and she was talking of that meeting to herself.
"It was there," I heard her say softly, as she gazed at the bushbeneath which she had seen him shaking his fist at her on the night ofthe riots. A little farther on she stopped where a path fromWindyghoul sets off for the well in the wood. She looked up itwistfully, and there I left her behind, and pressed on to the mudhouseto ask Nanny Webster if the minister was dead. Nanny's gate wasswinging in the wind, but her door was shut, and for a moment I stoodat it like a coward, afraid to enter and hear the worst.
The house was empty. I turned from it relieved, as if I had got arespite, and while I stood in the garden the Egyptian came to meshuddering, her twitching face asking the question that would notleave her lips.
"There is no one in the house," I said. "Nanny is perhaps at thewell."
But the gypsy went inside, and pointing to the fire said, "It has beenout for hours. Do you not see? The murder has drawn every one intoThrums."
So I feared. A dreadful night was to pass before I knew that this wasthe day of the release of Sanders Webster, and that frail Nanny hadwalked into Tilliedrum to meet him at the prison gate.
Babbie sank upon a stool, so weak that I doubt whether she heard metell her to wait there until my return. I hurried into Thrums, not bythe hill, though it is the shorter way, but by the Roods, for I musthear all before I ventured to approach the manse. From Windyghoul tothe top of the Roods it is a climb and then a steep descent. The roadhas no sooner reached its highest point than it begins to fall in thestraight line of houses called the Roods, and thus I came upon a fullview of the street at once. A cart was laboring up it. There werewomen sitting on stones at their doors, and girls playing atpalaulays, and out of the house nearest me came a black figure. Myeyes failed me; I was asking so much from them. They made him tall andshort, and spare and stout, so that I knew it was Gavin, and yet,looking again, feared, but all the time, I think, I knew it was he.