"Sam'l's bairn's down wi' scarlet fever and like to die, and him being
a widow-man he has gone useless. You mauna blame the wives in the
Tenements 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 ran
greeting to the manse for Mr. Dishart, and the lady heard him crying
to Jean through the door, and what does she do but gang straucht to
the Tenements wi' Sam'l. Her goodness has naturally put the folk on
her 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 the
minister being awa, it was her duty to take his place. Yes, and though
she little kent it, he was already married."
"Hendry," I said, rising, "I must see this lady at once. Is she still
at Farquharson's house?"
"She may be back again by this time. Tammas set off for Sam'l's as
soon as he heard she was there, but he just missed her. I left him
there an hour syne. He was waiting for her, determined to tell her
all."
I set off for the Tenements at once, declining Hendry's company. The
wind had fallen, so that the bell no longer rang, but the rain was
falling doggedly. The streets were still deserted. I pushed open the
precentor's door in the school wynd, but there was no one in the
house. Tibbie Birse saw me, and shouted from her door:
"Hae you heard o' Mr. Dishart? He'll never daur show face in Thrums
again."
Without giving her a word I hastened to the Tenements.
"The leddy's no here," Sam'l Farquharson told me, "and Tammas is back
at the manse again, trying to force his way in."
From Sam'l, too, I turned, with no more than a groan; but he cried
after me, "Perdition on the man that has played that leddy false."
Had Margaret been at her window she must have seen me, so recklessly
did I hurry up the minister's road, with nothing in me but a passion
to take Whamond by the throat. He was not in the garden. The kitchen
door 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's
the minister?"
"You base woman!" I cried, "why did you unbar the door?"
[Illustration: "IT WAS BABBIE, THOUGH NO LONGER IN A GYPSY'S DRESS."]
"It was the mistress," she answered. "She heard him shaking it, and I
had to tell her wha it was. Dominie, it's a' my wite! He tried to get
in last nicht, and roared threats through the door, and after he had
gone 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 taking
shelter frae the rain in a farmhouse. Ay, I said he was to bide there
till the flood gaed down, and that's how she has been easy a' day. I
acted for the best, but I'm sair punished now; for when she heard
Tammas at the door twa or three minutes syne, she ordered me to let
him 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 stop
his mouth."
This was hard. I dared not go to the parlor. Margaret might have died
at sight of me. I turned my face from Jean.
"Jean," said some one, opening the inner kitchen door, "why did
you----?"
She stopped, and that was what turned me round. As she spoke I thought
it was the young lady; when I looked I saw it was Babbie, though no
longer in a gypsy's dress. Then I knew that the young lady and Babbie
were one.
Chapter Thirty-Nine.