"Perhaps," answered the Egyptian, "it is the cloak that has bewitched me." She slipped out of it. "Ay, ay, ou losh!" she said, as if surprised, "it was just the cloak that did it, for now I'm a puir ignorant bit lassie again. My, certie, but claithes does make a differ to a woman!" This was sheer levity, and Gavin walked scornfully away from it. "Yet, if you will not tell me who you are," he said, looking over his shoulder, "tell me where you got the cloak." "Na faags," replied the gypsy out of the cloak. "Really, Mr. Dishart, you had better not ask," she added, replacing it over her. She followed him, meaning to gain the open by the fields to the north of the manse. "Good-bye," she said, holding out her hand, "if you are not to give me up." "I am not a policeman," replied Gavin, but he would not take her hand. "Surely, we part friends, then?" said the Egyptian, sweetly. "No," Gavin answered. "I hope never to see your face again." "I cannot help," the Egyptian said, with dignity, "your not liking my face." Then, with less dignity, she added, "There is a splotch of mud on your own, little minister; it came off the divit you flung at the captain." With this parting shot she tripped past him, and Gavin would not let his eyes follow her. It was not the mud on his face that distressed him, nor even the hand that had flung the divit. It was the word "little." Though even Margaret was not aware of it, Gavin's shortness had grieved him all his life. There had been times when he tried to keep the secret from himself. In his boyhood he had sought a remedy by getting his larger comrades to stretch him. In the company of tall men he was always self-conscious. In the pulpit he looked darkly at his congregation when he asked them who, by taking thought, could add a cubit to his stature. When standing on a hearthrug his heels were frequently on the fender. In his bedroom he has stood on a footstool and surveyed himself in the mirror. Once he fastened high heels to his boots, being ashamed to ask Hendry Munn to do it for him; but this dishonesty shamed him, and he tore them off. So the Egyptian had put a needle into his pride, and he walked to the manse gloomily. [Illustration: "SURELY, WE PART FRIENDS, THEN?"] Margaret was at her window, looking for him, and he saw her though she did not see him. He was stepping into the middle of the road to wave his hand to her, when some sudden weakness made him look towards the fields instead. The Egyptian saw him and nodded thanks for his interest in her, but he scowled and pretended to be studying the sky. Next moment he saw her running back to him. "There are soldiers at the top of the field," she cried. "I cannot escape that way." "There is no other way," Gavin answered. "Will you not help me again?" she entreated. She should not have said "again." Gavin shook his head, but pulled her closer to the manse dyke, for his mother was still in sight.