"I winna. There's no a soul on the hill but you and me and thae daffing and drinking gypsies. How do you no answer me, Tammas? Hie, Tammas Whamond, whaur are you? He's gone! Ay, then I'll mak' tracks hame." In the broom--a dogcart: "Do you see nothing yet, McKenzie?" "Scarce the broom at my knees, Rintoul. There is not a light on the hill." "McKenzie, can that schoolmaster have deceived us?" "It is probable." "Urge on the horse, however. There is a road through the broom, I know. Have we stuck again?" "Rintoul, she is not here. I promised to help you to bring her back to the Spittal before this escapade became known, but we have failed to find her. If she is to be saved, it must be by herself. I daresay she has returned already. Let me turn the horse's head. There is a storm brewing." "I will search this gypsy encampment first, if it is on the hill. Hark! that was a dog's bark. Yes, it is Snap; but he would not bark at nothing. Why do you look behind you so often, McZenzie?" "For some time, Rintoul, it has seemed to me that we are being followed. Listen!" "I hear nothing. At last, McKenzie, at last, we are out of the broom." "And as I live, Rintoul, I see the gypsy lights!" It might have been a lantern that was flashed across the hill. Then all that part of the world went suddenly on fire. Everything was horribly distinct in that white light. The firs of Caddam were so near that it seemed to have arrested them in a silent march upon the hill. The grass would not hide a pebble. The ground was scored with shadows of men and things. Twice the light flickered and recovered itself. A red serpent shot across it, and then again black night fell. The hill had been illumined thus for nearly half a minute. During that time not even a dog stirred. The shadows of human beings lay on the ground as motionless as logs. What had been revealed seemed less a gypsy marriage than a picture. Or was it that during the ceremony every person on the hill had been turned into stone? The gypsy king, with his arm upraised, had not had time to let it fall. The men and women behind him had their mouths open, as if struck when on the point of calling out. Lord Rintoul had risen in the dogcart and was leaning forward. One of McKenzie's feet was on the shaft. The man crouching in the dogcart's wake had flung up his hands to protect his face. The precentor, his neck outstretched, had a hand on each knee. All eyes were fixed, as in the death glare, on Gavin and Babbie, who stood before the king, their hands clasped over the tongs. Fear was petrified on the woman's face, determination on the man's. They were all released by the crack of the thunder, but for another moment none could have swaggered. "That was Lord Rintoul in the dogcart," Babbie whispered, drawing in her breath. "Yes, dear," Gavin answered resolutely, "and now is the time for me to have my first and last talk with him. Remain here, Babbie. Do not move till I come back."