The Little Minister

by J. M. Barrie

  Chapter Twenty-Two.

  LOVERS.

  Only something terrible, Gavin thought, could have brought Babbie tohim at such an hour; yet when he left his mother's room it was tostand motionless on the stair, waiting for a silence in the manse thatwould not come. A house is never still in darkness to those who listenintently; there is a whispering in distant chambers, an unearthly handpresses the snib of the window, the latch rises. Ghosts were createdwhen the first man woke in the night.

  Now Margaret slept. Two hours earlier, Jean, sitting on thesalt-bucket, had read the chapter with which she always sent herselfto bed. In honour of the little minister she had begun her Bibleafresh when he came to Thrums, and was progressing through it, achapter at night, sighing, perhaps, on washing days at a long chapter,such as Exodus twelfth, but never making two of it. The kitchenwag-at-the-wall clock was telling every room in the house that she hadneglected to shut her door. As Gavin felt his way down the dark stair,awakening it into protest at every step, he had a glimpse of thependulum's shadow running back and forward on the hearth; he startedback from another shadow on the lobby wall, and then seeing it starttoo, knew it for his own. He opened the door and passed outunobserved; it was as if the sounds and shadows that filled the mansewere too occupied with their game to mind an interloper.

  "Is that you?" he said to a bush, for the garden was in semi-darkness.Then the lantern's flash met him, and he saw the Egyptian in thesummer-seat.

  "At last!" she said, reproachfully. "Evidently a lantern is a poordoor-bell."

  "What is it?" Gavin asked, in suppressed excitement, for the least heexpected to hear was that she was again being pursued for her share inthe riot. The tremor in his voice surprised her into silence, and hethought she faltered because what she had to tell him was so woeful.So, in the darkness of the summer-seat, he kissed her, and she mighthave known that with that kiss the little minister was hers forever.

  Now Babbie had been kissed before, but never thus, and she turned fromGavin, and would have liked to be alone, for she had begun to knowwhat love was, and the flash that revealed it to her laid bare her ownshame, so that her impulse was to hide herself from her lover. But ofall this Gavin was unconscious, and he repeated his question. Thelantern was swaying in her hand, and when she turned fearfully to himits light fell on his face, and she saw how alarmed he was.

  "I am going away back to Nanny's," she said suddenly, and rose cowed,but he took her hand and held her.

  "Babbie," he said, huskily, "tell me what has happened to bring youhere at this hour."

  She sought to pull her hand from him, but could not.

  "How you are trembling!" he whispered. "Babbie," he cried, "somethingterrible has happened to you, but do not fear. Tell me what it is, andthen--then I will take you to my mother: yes, I will take you now."

  The Egyptian would have given all she had in the world to be able tofly from him then, that he might never know her as she was, but itcould not be, and so she spoke out remorselessly. If her voice hadbecome hard, it was a new-born scorn of herself that made it so.

  "You are needlessly alarmed," she said; "I am not at all the kind ofperson who deserves sympathy or expects it. There is nothing wrong. Iam staying with Nanny over-night, and only came to Thrums to amusemyself. I chased your policeman down the Roods with my lantern, andthen came here to amuse myself with you. That is all."

  "It was nothing but a love of mischief that brought you here?" Gavinasked, sternly, after an unpleasant pause.

  "Nothing," the Egyptian answered, recklessly.

  "I could not have believed this of you," the minister said; "I amashamed of you."

  "I thought," Babbie retorted, trying to speak lightly until she couldget away from him, "that you would be glad to see me. Your last wordsin Caddam seemed to justify that idea."

  "I am very sorry to see you," he answered, reproachfully.

  "Then I will go away at once," she said, stepping out of thesummer-seat.

  "Yes," he replied, "you must go at once."

  "Then I won't," she said, turning back defiantly. "I know what you areto say: that the Thrums people would be shocked if they knew I washere; as if I cared what the Thrums people think of me."

  "I care what they think of you," Gavin said, as if that were decisive,"and I tell you I will not allow you to repeat this freak."

  "You 'will not allow me,'" echoed Babbie, almost enjoying herself,despite her sudden loss of self-respect.

  "I will not," Gavin said, resolutely. "Henceforth you must do as Ithink fit."

  "Since when have you taken command of me?" demanded Babbie.

  "Since a minute ago," Gavin replied, "when you let me kiss you."

  "Let you!" exclaimed Babbie, now justly incensed. "You did ityourself. I was very angry."

  "No, you were not."

  "I am not allowed to say that even?" asked the Egyptian. "Tell mesomething I may say, then, and I will repeat it after you."

  "I have something to say to you," Gavin told her, after a moment'sreflection; "yes, and there is something I should like to hear yourepeat after me, but not to-night."

  "I don't want to hear what it is," Babbie said, quickly, but she knewwhat it was, and even then, despite the new pain at her heart, herbosom swelled with pride because this man still loved her. Now shewanted to run away with his love for her before he could take it fromher, and then realising that this parting must be forever, a greatdesire filled her to hear him put that kiss into words, and she said,faltering:

  "You can tell me what it is if you like."

  "Not to-night," said Gavin.

  "To-night, if at all," the gypsy almost entreated.

  "To-morrow, at Nanny's," answered Gavin, decisively: and this time heremembered without dismay that the morrow was the Sabbath.

  In the fairy tale the beast suddenly drops his skin and is a prince,and I believed it seemed to Babbie that some such change had come overthis man, her plaything.

  "Your lantern is shining on my mother's window," were the words thatwoke her from this discovery, and then she found herself yielding thelantern to him. She became conscious vaguely that a correspondingchange was taking place in herself.

  "You spoke of taking me to your mother," she said, bitterly.

  "Yes," he answered at once, "to-morrow"; but she shook her head,knowing that to-morrow he would be wiser.

  "Give me the lantern," she said, in a low voice, "I am going back toNanny's now."

  "Yes," he said, "we must set out now, but I can carry the lantern."

  "You are not coming with me!" she exclaimed, shaking herself free ofhis hand.

  "I am coming," he replied, calmly, though he was not calm. "Take myarm, Babbie."

  She made a last effort to free herself from bondage, cryingpassionately, "I will not let you come."

  "When I say I am coming," Gavin answered between his teeth, "I meanthat I am coming, and so let that be an end of this folly. Take myarm."

  "I think I hate you," she said, retreating from him.

  "Take my arm," he repeated, and, though her breast was risingrebelliously, she did as he ordered, and so he escorted her from thegarden. At the foot of the field she stopped, and thought to frightenhim by saying, "What would the people say if they saw you with menow?"

  "It does not much matter what they would say," he answered, stillkeeping his teeth together as if doubtful of their courage. "As forwhat they would do, that is certain; they would put me out of mychurch."

  "And it is dear to you?"

  "Dearer than life."

  "You told me long ago that your mother's heart would break if----"

  "Yes, I am sure it would."

  They had begun to climb the fields, but she stopped him with a jerk.

  "Go back, Mr. Dishart," she implored, clutching his arm with bothhands. "You make me very unhappy for no purpose. Oh, why should yourisk so much for me?"

  "I cannot have you wandering here alone at midnight," Gavin answered,gently.

  "That
is nothing to me," she said, eagerly, but no longer resentinghis air of proprietorship.

  "You will never do it again if I can prevent it."

  "But you cannot," she said, sadly. "Oh, yes, you can, Mr. Dishart. Ifyou will turn back now I shall promise never to do anything againwithout first asking myself whether it would seem right to you. I knowI acted very wrongly to-night."

  "Only thoughtlessly," he said.

  "Then have pity on me," she besought him, "and go back. If I have onlybeen thoughtless, how can you punish me thus? Mr. Dishart," sheentreated, her voice breaking, "if you were to suffer for this follyof mine, do you think I could live?"

  "We are in God's hands, dear," he answered, firmly, and he again drewher arm to him. So they climbed the first field, and were almost atthe hill before either spoke again.

  "Stop," Babbie whispered, crouching as she spoke; "I see some onecrossing the hill."

  "I have seen him for some time," Gavin answered, quietly; "but I amdoing no wrong, and I will not hide."

  The Egyptian had to walk on with him, and I suppose she did not thinkthe 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 distressdoubled.

  "We are walking straight to him," she whispered. "I implore you towait here until he passes, if not for your own sake, for yourmother's."

  At that he wavered, and she heard his teeth sliding against eachother, as if he could no longer clench them.

  "But, no," he said moving on again, "I will not be a skulker from anyman. If it be God's wish that I should suffer for this, I mustsuffer."

  "Oh, why," cried Babbie, beating her hands together in grief, "shouldyou suffer for me?"

  "You are mine," Gavin answered. Babbie gasped. "And if you actfoolishly," he continued, "it is right that I should bear the brunt ofit. 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 thedominie of Glen Quharity. The park gate clicked as it swung to, and Ilooked up and saw Gavin and the Egyptian. My eyes should have foundthem sooner, but it was to gaze upon Margaret's home, while no one sawme, that I had trudged into Thrums so late, and by that time, Isuppose, my eyes were of little service for seeing through. Yet, whenI knew that of these two people suddenly beside me on the hill one wasthe little minister and the other a strange woman, I fell back fromtheir side with dread before I could step forward and cry "Gavin!"

  "I am Mr. Dishart," he answered, with a composure that would not haveserved him for another sentence. He was more excited than I, for the"Gavin" fell harmlessly on him, while I had no sooner uttered it thanthere rushed through me the shame of being false to Margaret. It wasthe only time in my life that I forgot her in him, though he has everstood next to her in my regard.

  I looked from Gavin to the gypsy woman, and again from her to him, andshe began to tell a lie in his interest. But she got no farther than"I met Mr. Dishart accid----" when she stopped, ashamed. It wasreverence for Gavin that checked the lie. Not every man has had such acompliment paid him.

  "It is natural," Gavin said, slowly, "that you, sir, should wonder whyI am here with this woman at such an hour, and you may know me solittle as to think ill of me for it."

  I did not answer, and he misunderstood my silence.

  "No," he continued, in a harder voice, as if I had asked him aquestion, "I will explain nothing to you. You are not my judge. If youwould do me harm, sir, you have it in your power."

  It was with these cruel words that Gavin addressed me. He did not knowhow cruel they were. The Egyptian, I think, must have seen that hissuspicions hurt me, for she said, softly, with a look of appeal in hereyes--

  "You are the schoolmaster in Glen Quharity? Then you will perhaps saveMr. Dishart the trouble of coming farther by showing me the way to oldNanny Webster's house at Windyghoul?"

  "I have to pass the house at any rate," I answered eagerly, and shecame quickly to my side.

  I knew, though in the darkness I could see but vaguely, that Gavin washolding his head high and waiting for me to say my worst. I had nottold him that I dared think no evil of him, and he still suspected me.Now I would not trust myself to speak lest I should betray Margaret,and yet I wanted him to know that base doubts about him could neverfind a shelter in me. I am a timid man who long ago lost the glory ofmy life by it, and I was again timid when I sought to let Gavin seethat my faith in him was unshaken. I lifted my bonnet to the gypsy,and asked her to take my arm. It was done clumsily, I cannot doubt,but he read my meaning and held out his hand to me. I had not touchedit since he was three years old, and I trembled too much to give itthe grasp I owed it. He and I parted without a word, but to theEgyptian he said, "To-morrow, dear, I will see you at Nanny's," and hewas to kiss her, but I pulled her a step farther from him, and she puther hands over her face, crying, "No, no!"

  If I asked her some questions between the hill and Windyghoul you mustnot blame me, for this was my affair as well as theirs. She did notanswer me; I know now that she did not hear me. But at the mud houseshe looked abruptly into my face, and said--

  "You love him, too!"

  I trudged to the school house with these words for company, and it wasless her discovery than her confession that tortured me. How much Islept that night you may guess.