In the parlour he found Margaret sorrowing for those whose mates had been torn from them, and Jean with a face flushed by talk. On ordinary occasions the majesty of the minister still cowed Jean, so that she could only gaze at him without shaking when in church, and then because she wore a veil. In the manse he was for taking a glance at sideways and then going away comforted, as a respectable woman may once or twice in a day look at her brooch in the pasteboard box as a means of helping her with her work. But with such a to-do in Thrums, and she the possessor of exclusive information, Jean's reverence for Gavin only took her to-day as far as the door, where she lingered half in the parlour and half in the lobby, her eyes turned politely from the minister, but her ears his entirely. "I thought I heard Jean telling you about the capture of the--of an Egyptian woman," Gavin said to his mother, nervously. "Did you cry to me?" Jean asked, turning round longingly. "But maybe the mistress will tell you about the Egyptian hersel." "Has she been taken to Tilliedrum?" Gavin asked in a hollow voice. "Sup up your porridge, Gavin," Margaret said. "I'll have no speaking about this terrible night till you've eaten something." "I have no appetite," the minister replied, pushing his plate from him. "Jean, answer me." "'Deed, then," said Jean willingly, "they hinna ta'en her to Tilliedrum." "For what reason?" asked Gavin, his dread increasing. "For the reason that they couldna catch her," Jean answered. "She spirited hersel awa', the magerful crittur." "What! But I heard you say----" "Ay, they had her aince, but they couldna keep her. It's like a witch story. They had her safe in the town-house, and baith shirra and captain guarding her, and syne in a clink she wasna there. A' nicht they looked for her, but she hadna left so muckle as a foot-print ahint her, and in the tail of the day they had to up wi' their tap in their lap and march awa without her." Gavin's appetite returned. "Has she been seen since the soldiers went away?" he asked, laying down his spoon with a new fear. "Where is she now?" "No human eye has seen her," Jean answered impressively. "Whaur is she now? Whaur does the flies vanish to in winter? We ken they're some gait, but whaur?" "But what are the people saying about her?" "Daft things," said Jean. "Old Charles Yuill gangs the length o' hinting that she's dead and buried." "She could not have buried herself, Jean," Margaret said, mildly. "I dinna ken. Charles says she's even capable o' that." Then Jean retired reluctantly (but leaving the door ajar) and Gavin fell to on his porridge. He was now so cheerful that Margaret wondered. "If half the stories about this gypsy be true," she said, "she must be more than a mere woman." "Less, you mean, mother," Gavin said, with conviction. "She is a woman, and a sinful one." "Did you see her, Gavin?" "I saw her. Mother, she flouted me!" "The daring tawpie!" exclaimed Margaret.