Chapter Thirty-Eight.
THRUMS DURING THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS--DEFENCE OF THE MANSE.
Hardly had I crossed the threshold of the mudhouse when such asickness came over me that I could not have looked up, though Nanny'svoice had suddenly changed to Margaret's. Vaguely I knew that Nannyhad put the kettle on the fire--a woman's first thought when there isillness in the house--and as I sat with my hands over my face I heardthe water dripping from my clothes to the floor.
"Why is that bell ringing?" I asked at last, ignoring all questionsand speaking through my fingers. An artist, I suppose, could paint allexpression out of a human face. The sickness was having that effect onmy voice.
"It's the Auld Licht bell," Sanders said; "and it's almost as fearsometo listen to as last nicht's rain. I wish I kent what they're ringingit for."
"Wish no sic things," said Nanny nervously. "There's things it's bestto put off kenning as lang as we can."
"It's that ill-cleakit witch, Effie McBean, that makes Nanny speak sodoleful," Sanders told me. "There was to be a prayer-meeting lastnicht, but Mr. Dishart never came to 't, though they rang till theywraxed their arms; and now Effie says it'll ring on by itsel' tillhe's brocht hame a corp. The hellicat says the rain's a dispensationto drown him in for neglect o' duty. Sal, I would think little o' theLord if He needed to create a new sea to drown one man in. Nanny, yoncuttie, that's no swearing; I defy you to find a single lonely oath inwhat I've said."
"Never mind Effie McBean," I interposed. "What are the congregationsaying about the minister's absence?"
"We ken little except what Effie telled us," Nanny answered. "I was atTilliedrum yestreen, meeting Sanders as he got out o' the gaol, andthat awfu onding began when we was on the Bellies Braes. We focht ourway through it, but not a soul did we meet; and wha would gang out theday that can bide at hame? Ay, but Effie says it's kent in Thrums thatMr. Dishart has run off wi'--wi' an Egyptian."
"You're waur than her, Nanny," Sanders said roughly, "for you hae twareasons for kenning better. In the first place, has Mr. Dishart nokeeped you in siller a' the time I was awa? and for another, have I nobeen at the manse?"
My head rose now.
"He gaed to the manse," Nanny explained, "to thank Mr. Dishart forbeing so good to me. Ay, but Jean wouldna let him in. I'm thinkingthat looks gey gray."
"Whatever was her reason," Sanders admitted, "Jean wouldna open thedoor; but I keeked in at the parlor window, and saw Mrs. Dishart in'tlooking very cosy-like and lauching; and do you think I would hae seenthat if ill had come ower the minister?"
"Not if Margaret knew of it," I said to myself, and wondered atWhamond's forbearance.
"She had a skein o' worsted stretched out on her hands," Sanderscontinued, "and a young leddy was winding it. I didna see her richt,but she wasna a Thrums leddy."
"Effie McBean says she's his intended, come to call him to account,"Nanny said; but I hardly listened, for I saw that I must hurry toTammas Whamond's. Nanny followed me to the gate with her gown pulledover her head, and said excitedly:
"Oh, dominie, I warrant it's true. It'll be Babbie. Sanders doesnasuspect, because I've telled him nothing about her. Oh, what's to bedone? They were baith so good to me."
I could only tell her to keep what she knew to herself.
"Has Rob Dow come back?" I called out after I had started.
"Whaur frae?" she replied; and then I remembered that all these thingshad happened while Nanny was at Tilliedrum. In this life some of theseven ages are spread over two decades, and others pass as quickly asa stage play. Though a fifth of a season's rain had fallen in a nightand a day, it had scarcely kept pace with Gavin.
I hurried to the town by the Roods. That brae was as deserted as thecountry roads, except where children had escaped from their mothers towade in it. Here and there dams were keeping the water away from onedoor to send it with greater volume to another, and at points theground had fallen in. But this I noticed without interest. I did noteven realize that I was holding my head painfully to the side where ithad been blown by the wind and glued by the rain. I have never held myhead straight since that journey.
Only a few looms were going, their pedals in water. I was addressedfrom several doors and windows, once by Charles Yuill.
"Dinna pretend," he said, "that you've walked in frae the school-housealane. The rain chased me into this house yestreen, and here it haskeeped me, though I bide no further awa than Tillyloss."
"Charles," I said in a low voice, "why is the Auld Licht bellringing?"
"Hae you no heard about Mr. Dishart?" he asked. "Oh, man! that's LangTammas in the kirk by himsel', tearing at the bell to bring the folkthegither to depose the minister."
Instead of going to Whamond's house in the school wynd I hastened downthe Banker's close to the kirk, and had almost to turn back, so chokedwas the close with floating refuse. I could see the bell swaying, butthe kirk was locked, and I battered on the door to no purpose. Then,remembering that Hendry Munn lived in Coutt's trance, I set off forhis house. He saw me crossing the square, but would not open his dooruntil I was close to it.
"When I open," he cried, "squeeze through quick"; but though I did hisbidding, a rush of water darted in before me. Hendry reclosed the doorby flinging himself against it.
"When I saw you crossing the square," he said, "it was surprise enoughto cure the hiccup."
"Hendry," I replied instantly, "why is the Auld Licht bell ringing?"
He put his finger to his lip. "I see," he said imperturbably, "you'vemet our folk in the glen and heard frae them about the minister."
"What folk?"
"Mair than half the congregation," he replied, "I started for GlenQuharity twa hours syne to help the farmers. You didna see them?"
"No; they must have been on the other side of the river." Again thatquestion forced my lips, "Why is the bell ringing?"
"Canny, dominie," he said, "till we're up the stair. Mysy Moncur'slug's at her keyhole listening to you."
"You lie, Hendry Munn," cried an invisible woman. The voice becamemore plaintive: "I ken a heap, Hendry, so you may as well tell mea'."
"Lick away at the bone you hae," the shoemaker replied heartlessly,and conducted me to his room up one of the few inside stairs then inThrums. Hendry's oddest furniture was five boxes, fixed to the wallat such a height that children could climb into them from a highstool. In these his bairns slept, and so space was economized. I couldnever laugh at the arrangement, as I knew that Betty had planned it onher deathbed for her man's sake. Five little heads bobbed up in theirbeds as I entered, but more vexing to me was Wearyworld on a stool.
"In by, dominie," he said sociably. "Sal, you needna fear burning wi'a' that water on you. You're in mair danger o' coming a-boil."
"I want to speak to you alone, Hendry," I said bluntly.
"You winna put me out, Hendry?" the alarmed policeman entreated."Mind, you said in sic weather you would be friendly to a brute beast.Ay, ay, dominie, what's your news? It's welcome, be it good or bad.You would meet the townsfolk in the glen, and they would tell youabout Mr. Dishart. What, you hinna heard? Oh, sirs, he's a lost man.There would hae been a meeting the day to depose him if so many hadnagaen to the glen. But the morn'll do as weel. The very women iscursing him, and the laddies has begun to gather stanes. He's marriedon an Egyp----"
"Hendry!" I cried, like one giving an order.
"Wearyworld, step!" said Hendry sternly, and then added soft-heartedly:"Here's a bit news that'll open Mysy Moncur's door to you. You cantell her frae me that the bell's ringing just because I forgot to tie itup last nicht, and the wind's shaking it, and I winna gang out in therain to stop it."
"Ay," the policeman said, looking at me sulkily, "she may open herdoor for that, but it'll no let me in. Tell me mair. Tell me wha theleddy at the manse is."
"Out you go," answered Hendry. "Once she opens the door, you can shoveyour foot in, and syne she's in your power." He pushed Wearyworld out,and came back to me, saying, "It was be
st to tell him the truth, tokeep him frae making up lies."
"But is it the truth? I was told Lang Tammas----"
"Ay, I ken that story; but Tammas has other work on hand."
"Then tie up the bell at once, Hendry," I urged.
"I canna," he answered gravely. "Tammas took the keys o' the kirk framme yestreen, and winna gie them up. He says the bell's being rung bythe hand o' God."
"Has he been at the manse? Does Mrs. Dishart know----?"
"He's been at the manse twa or three times, but Jean barred him out.She'll let nobody in till the minister comes back, and so the mistresskens nothing. But what's the use o' keeping it frae her ony langer?"
"Every use," I said.
"None," answered Hendry sadly. "Dominie, the minister was married tothe Egyptian on the hill last nicht, and Tammas was witness. Not onlywere they married, but they've run aff thegither."
"You are wrong, Hendry," I assured him, telling as much as I dared. "Ileft Mr. Dishart in my house."
"What! But if that is so, how did he no come back wi' you?"
"Because he was nearly drowned in the flood."
"She'll be wi' him?"
"He was alone."
Hendry's face lit up dimly with joy, and then he shook his head."Tammas was witness," he said. "Can you deny the marriage?"
"All I ask of you," I answered guardedly, "is to suspend judgmentuntil the minister returns."
"There can be nothing done, at ony rate," he said, "till the folkthemsel's come back frae the glen; and I needna tell you how glad wewould a' be to be as fond o' him as ever. But Tammas was witness."
"Have pity on his mother, man."
"We've done the best for her we could," he replied. "We prigged wi'Tammas no to gang to the manse till we was sure the minister wasliving. 'For if he has been drowned,' we said, 'his mother need neverken what we were thinking o' doing.' Ay, and we're sorry for the youngleddy, too."
"What young lady is this you all talk of?" I asked.
"She's his intended. Ay, you needna start. She has come a' the roadfrae Glasgow to challenge him about the gypsy. The pitiful thing isthat Mrs. Dishart lauched awa her fears, and now they're baith waitingfor his return, as happy as ignorance can make them."
"There is no such lady," I said.
"But there is," he answered doggedly, "for she came in a machine latelast nicht, and I was ane o' a dozen that baith heard and saw itthrough my window. It stopped at the manse near half an hour. What'smair, the lady hersel' was at Sam'l Farquharson's in the Tenements theday for twa hours."
I listened in bewilderment and fear.
"Sam'l's bairn's down wi' scarlet fever and like to die, and him beinga widow-man he has gone useless. You mauna blame the wives in theTenements for hauding back. They're fleid to smit their ain litlins;and as it happens, Sam'l's friends is a' aff to the glen. Weel, he rangreeting to the manse for Mr. Dishart, and the lady heard him cryingto Jean through the door, and what does she do but gang straucht tothe Tenements wi' Sam'l. Her goodness has naturally put the folk onher side against the minister."
"This does not prove her his intended," I broke in.
"She was heard saying to Sam'l," answered the kirk officer, "that theminister being awa, it was her duty to take his place. Yes, and thoughshe little kent it, he was already married."
"Hendry," I said, rising, "I must see this lady at once. Is she stillat Farquharson's house?"
"She may be back again by this time. Tammas set off for Sam'l's assoon as he heard she was there, but he just missed her. I left himthere an hour syne. He was waiting for her, determined to tell herall."
I set off for the Tenements at once, declining Hendry's company. Thewind had fallen, so that the bell no longer rang, but the rain wasfalling doggedly. The streets were still deserted. I pushed open theprecentor's door in the school wynd, but there was no one in thehouse. Tibbie Birse saw me, and shouted from her door:
"Hae you heard o' Mr. Dishart? He'll never daur show face in Thrumsagain."
Without giving her a word I hastened to the Tenements.
"The leddy's no here," Sam'l Farquharson told me, "and Tammas is backat the manse again, trying to force his way in."
From Sam'l, too, I turned, with no more than a groan; but he criedafter me, "Perdition on the man that has played that leddy false."
Had Margaret been at her window she must have seen me, so recklesslydid I hurry up the minister's road, with nothing in me but a passionto take Whamond by the throat. He was not in the garden. The kitchendoor was open. Jean was standing at it with her apron to her eyes.
"Tammas Whamond?" I demanded, and my face completed the question.
"You're ower late," she wailed. "He's wi' her. Oh, dominie, whaur'sthe minister?"
"You base woman!" I cried, "why did you unbar the door?"
"IT WAS BABBIE, THOUGH NO LONGER IN A GYPSY'S DRESS."]
"It was the mistress," she answered. "She heard him shaking it, and Ihad to tell her wha it was. Dominie, it's a' my wite! He tried to getin last nicht, and roared threats through the door, and after he hadgone awa she speired wha I had been speaking to. I had to tell her,but I said he had come to let her ken that the minister was takingshelter frae the rain in a farmhouse. Ay, I said he was to bide theretill the flood gaed down, and that's how she has been easy a' day. Iacted for the best, but I'm sair punished now; for when she heardTammas at the door twa or three minutes syne, she ordered me to lethim in, so that she could thank him for bringing the news last nicht,despite the rain. They're in the parlor. Oh, dominie, gang in and stophis mouth."
This was hard. I dared not go to the parlor. Margaret might have diedat sight of me. I turned my face from Jean.
"Jean," said some one, opening the inner kitchen door, "why didyou----?"
She stopped, and that was what turned me round. As she spoke I thoughtit was the young lady; when I looked I saw it was Babbie, though nolonger in a gypsy's dress. Then I knew that the young lady and Babbiewere one.