"All you had to say," continued the merciless Egyptian, "was, 'This is the person you are in search of.' I did not have my hand over your mouth. Why did you not say it?" "Forbear!" said Gavin, woefully. "It must have been," the gypsy said, "because you really wanted to help me." "Then it was against my better judgment," said Gavin. "I am glad of that," said the gypsy. "Mr. Dishart, I do believe you like me all the time." "Can a man like a woman against his will?" Gavin blurted out. "Of course he can," said the Egyptian, speaking as one who knew. "That is the very nicest way to be liked." Seeing how agitated Gavin was, remorse filled her, and she said in a wheedling voice-- "It is all over, and no one will know." Passion sat on the minister's brow, but he said nothing, for the gypsy's face had changed with her voice, and the audacious woman was become a child. "I am very sorry," she said, as if he had caught her stealing jam. The hood had fallen back, and she looked pleadingly at him. She had the appearance of one who was entirely in his hands. There was a torrent of words in Gavin, but only these trickled forth-- "I don't understand you." "You are not angry any more?" pleaded the Egyptian. "Angry!" he cried, with the righteous rage of one who when his leg is being sawn off is asked gently if it hurts him. "I know you are," she sighed, and the sigh meant that men are strange. "Have you no respect for law and order?" demanded Gavin. "Not much," she answered, honestly. He looked down the road to where the red-coats were still visible, and his face became hard. She read his thoughts. "No," she said, becoming a woman again, "It is not yet too late. Why don't you shout to them?" She was holding herself like a queen, but there was no stiffness in her. They might have been a pair of lovers, and she the wronged one. Again she looked timidly at him, and became beautiful in a new way. Her eyes said that he was very cruel, and she was only keeping back her tears till he had gone. More dangerous than her face was her manner, which gave Gavin the privilege of making her unhappy; it permitted him to argue with her; it never implied that though he raged at her he must stand afar off; it called him a bully, but did not end the conversation. Now (but perhaps I should not tell this) unless she is his wife a man is shot with a thrill of exultation every time a pretty woman allows him to upbraid her. "I do not understand you," Gavin repeated weakly, and the gypsy bent her head under this terrible charge. "Only a few hours ago," he continued, "you were a gypsy girl in a fantastic dress, barefooted----" The Egyptian's bare foot at once peeped out mischievously from beneath the cloak, then again retired into hiding. "You spoke as broadly," complained the minister, somewhat taken aback by this apparition, "as any woman in Thrums, and now you fling a cloak over your shoulders, and immediately become a fine lady. Who are you?"