"Why do you do that?" the girl asked, quickly, looking round to see if she were pursued. "Oh, I see," she said, as her eyes fell on the figure at the window. "It is my mother," Gavin said, though he need not have explained, unless he wanted the gypsy to know that he was a bachelor. "Only your mother?" "Only! Let me tell you she may suffer more than you for your behaviour to-night!" "How can she?" "If you are caught, will it not be discovered that I helped you to escape?" "But you said you did not." "Yes, I helped you," Gavin admitted. "My God! what would my congregation say if they knew I had let you pass yourself off as-- as my wife?" He struck his brow, and the Egyptian had the propriety to blush. "It is not the punishment from men I am afraid of," Gavin said, bitterly, "but from my conscience. No, that is not true. I do fear exposure, but for my mother's sake. Look at her; she is happy, because she thinks me good and true; she has had such trials as you cannot know of, and now, when at last I seemed able to do something for her, you destroy her happiness. You have her life in your hands." The Egyptian turned her back upon him, and one of her feet tapped angrily on the dry ground. Then, child of impulse as she always was, she flashed an indignant glance at him, and walked quickly down the road. "Where are you going?" he cried. "To give myself up. You need not be alarmed; I will clear you." There was not a shake in her voice, and she spoke without looking back. "Stop!" Gavin called, but she would not, until his hand touched her shoulder. "What do you want?" she asked. "Why--" whispered Gavin, giddily, "why--why do you not hide in the manse garden?--No one will look for you there." There were genuine tears in the gypsy's eyes now. "You are a good man," she said; "I like you." "Don't say that," Gavin cried in horror. "There is a summer-seat in the garden." Then he hurried from her, and without looking to see if she took his advice, hastened to the manse. Once inside, he snibbed the door. CHAPTER IX. THE WOMAN CONSIDERED IN ABSENCE--ADVENTURES OF A MILITARY CLOAK. About six o'clock Margaret sat up suddenly in bed, with the conviction that she had slept in. To her this was to ravel the day: a dire thing. The last time it happened Gavin, softened by her distress, had condensed morning worship into a sentence that she might make up on the clock.