"Stop," Babbie whispered, crouching as she spoke; "I see some one crossing the hill." "I have seen him for some time," Gavin answered, quietly; "but I am doing no wrong, and I will not hide." The Egyptian had to walk on with him, and I suppose she did not think the less of him for that. Yet she said, warningly-- "If he sees you, all Thrums will be in an uproar before morning." "I cannot help that," Gavin replied. "It is the will of God." "To ruin you for my sins?" "If He thinks fit." The figure drew nearer, and with every step Babbie's distress doubled. "We are walking straight to him," she whispered. "I implore you to wait here until he passes, if not for your own sake, for your mother's." At that he wavered, and she heard his teeth sliding against each other, as if he could no longer clench them. "But, no," he said moving on again, "I will not be a skulker from any man. If it be God's wish that I should suffer for this, I must suffer." "Oh, why," cried Babbie, beating her hands together in grief, "should you suffer for me?" "You are mine," Gavin answered. Babbie gasped. "And if you act foolishly," he continued, "it is right that I should bear the brunt of it. No, I will not let you go on alone; you are not fit to be alone. You need some one to watch over you and care for you and love you, and, if need be, to suffer with you." "Turn back, dear, before he sees us." "He has seen us." Yes, I had seen them, for the figure on the hill was no other than the dominie of Glen Quharity. The park gate clicked as it swung to, and I looked up and saw Gavin and the Egyptian. My eyes should have found them sooner, but it was to gaze upon Margaret's home, while no one saw me, that I had trudged into Thrums so late, and by that time, I suppose, my eyes were of little service for seeing through. Yet, when I knew that of these two people suddenly beside me on the hill one was the little minister and the other a strange woman, I fell back from their side with dread before I could step forward and cry "Gavin!" "I am Mr. Dishart," he answered, with a composure that would not have served him for another sentence. He was more excited than I, for the "Gavin" fell harmlessly on him, while I had no sooner uttered it than there rushed through me the shame of being false to Margaret. It was the only time in my life that I for-got her in him, though he has ever stood next to her in my regard. I looked from Gavin to the gypsy woman, and again from her to him, and she began to tell a lie in his interest. But she got no farther than "I met Mr. Dis-bart accid--" when she stopped, ashamed. It was reverence for Gavin that checked the lie. Not every man has had such a compliment paid him. "It is natural," Gavin said, slowly, "that you, sir, should wonder why I am here with this woman at such an hour, and you may know me so little as to think ill of me for it." I did not answer, and he misunderstood my silence.