"Mr. Dishart," I said abruptly, "would you like to see a gypsy marriage? One is taking place there just now. That big fellow is the king, and he is about to marry two of his people over the tongs. The ceremony will not detain us five minutes, though the rejoicings will go on all night." I have been present at more than one gypsy wedding in my time, and at the wild, weird orgies that followed them, but what is interesting to such as I may not be for a minister's eyes, and, frowning at my proposal, Gavin turned his back upon the Toad's- hole. Then, as we recrossed the hill, to get away from the din of the camp, I pointed out to him that the report of his, death had brought McKenzie to Thrums, as well as me. "As soon as McKenzie heard I was not dead," he answered, "he galloped off to the Spittal, without ever seeing me. I suppose he posted back to be in time for the night's rejoicings there. So you see, it was no solicitude for me that brought him. He came because a servant at the Spittal was supposed to have done the deed." "Well, Mr. Dishart," I had to say, "why should deny that I have a warm regard for you? You have done brave work in our town." "It has been little," he replied. "With God's help it will be more in future." He meant that he had given time to his sad love affair that he owed to his people. Of seeing Babbit again I saw that he had given up hope. Instead of repining, he was devoting his whole soul to God's work. I was proud of him, and yet I grieved, for I could no think that God wanted him to bury his youth so soon. "I had thought," he confessed to me, "that you were one of those who did not like my preaching." "You were mistaken," I said, gravely. I dared not tell him that, except his mother, none would have saw under him so eagerly as I. "Nevertheless," he said, "you were a member of the Auld Licht church in Mr. Carfrae's time, and you left it when I came." "I heard your first sermon," I said. "Ah," he replied. "I had not been long in Thrums before I discovered that if I took tea with any of my congregation and declined a second cup, they thought it a reflection on their brewing." "You must not look upon my absence in that light," was all I could say. "There are reasons why I cannot come." He did not press me further, thinking I meant that the distance was too great, though frailer folk than I walked twenty miles to hear him. We might have parted thus had we not wandered by chance to the very spot where I had met him and Babbie. There is a seat there now for those who lose their breath on the climb up, and so I have two reasons nowadays for not passing the place by. We read each other's thoughts, and Gavin said calmly, "I have not seen her since that night. She disappeared as into a grave." How could I answer when I knew that Babbie was dying for want of him, not half a mile away? "You seemed to understand everything that night," he went on; "or if you did not, your thoughts were very generous to me."