The Little Minister

by J. M. Barrie

  Chapter Thirty-Two.

  LEADING SWIFTLY TO THE APPALLING MARRIAGE.

  The little minister bowed his head in assent when Babbie's cry, "Oh,Gavin, do you?" leapt in front of her unselfish wish that he shouldcare for her no more.

  "But that matters very little now," he said.

  She was his to do with as he willed; and, perhaps, the joy of knowingherself loved still, begot a wild hope that he would refuse to giveher up. If so, these words laid it low, but even the sentence theypassed upon her could not kill the self-respect that would be hershenceforth. "That matters very little now," the man said, but to thewoman it seemed to matter more than anything else in the world.

  Throughout the remainder of this interview until the end came, Gavinnever faltered. His duty and hers lay so plainly before him that therecould be no straying from it. Did Babbie think him strangely calm? Atthe Glen Quharity gathering I once saw Rob Angus lift a boulder withsuch apparent ease that its weight was discredited, until the cryarose that the effort had dislocated his arm. Perhaps Gavin'squietness deceived the Egyptian similarly. Had he stamped, she mighthave understood better what he suffered, standing there on the hotembers of his passion.

  "We must try to make amends now," he said gravely, "for the wrong wehave done."

  "The wrong I have done," she said, correcting him. "You will make itharder for me if you blame yourself. How vile I was in those days!"

  "Those days," she called them, they seemed so far away.

  "Do not cry, Babbie," Gavin replied, gently. "He knew what you were,and why, and He pities you. 'For His anger endureth but a moment: inHis favor is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh inthe morning.'"

  "Not to me."

  "Yes, to you," he answered. "Babbie, you will return to the Spittalnow, and tell Lord Rintoul everything."

  "If you wish it."

  "Not because I wish it, but because it is right. He must be told thatyou do not love him."

  "I never pretended to him that I did," Babbie said, looking up. "Oh,"she added, with emphasis, "he knows that. He thinks me incapable ofcaring for any one."

  "And that is why he must be told of me," Gavin replied. "You are nolonger the woman you were, Babbie, and you know it, and I know it, buthe does not know it. He shall know it before he decides whether he isto marry you."

  Babbie looked at Gavin, and wondered he did not see that this decisionlay with him.

  "Nevertheless," she said, "the wedding will take place to-morrow; ifit did not, Lord Rintoul would be the scorn of his friends."

  "If it does," the minister answered, "he will be the scorn of himself.Babbie, there is a chance."

  "There is no chance," she told him. "I shall be back at the Spittalwithout any one's knowing of my absence, and when I begin to tell himof you, he will tremble, lest it means my refusal to marry him; whenhe knows it does not, he will wonder only why I told him anything."

  "He will ask you to take time----"

  "No, he will ask me to put on my wedding-dress. You must not thinkanything else possible."

  "So be it, then," Gavin said firmly.

  "Yes, it will be better so," Babbie answered, and then, seeing himmisunderstand her meaning, exclaimed reproachfully, "I was notthinking of myself. In the time to come, whatever be my lot, I shallhave the one consolation, that this is best for you. Think of yourmother."

  "She will love you," Gavin said, "when I tell her of you."

  "Yes," said Babbie, wringing her hands; "she will almost love me, butfor what? For not marrying you. That is the only reason any one inThrums will have for wishing me well."

  "No others," Gavin answered, "will ever know why I remainedunmarried."

  "Will you never marry?" Babbie asked, exultingly. "Ah!" she cried,ashamed, "but you must."

  "Never."

  Well, many a man and many a woman has made that vow in similarcircumstances, and not all have kept it. But shall we who are oldsmile cynically at the brief and burning passion of the young? "Theday," you say, "will come when--" Good sir, hold your peace. Theiragony was great and now is dead, and, maybe, they have forgotten whereit lies buried; but dare you answer lightly when I ask you which ofthese things is saddest?

  Babbie believed his "Never," and, doubtless, thought no worse of himfor it; but she saw no way of comforting him save by disparagement ofherself.

  "You must think of your congregation," she said. "A minister with agypsy wife----"

  "Would have knocked them about with a flail," Gavin interposed,showing his teeth at the thought of the precentor, "until they did herreverence."

  She shook her head, and told him of her meeting with Micah Dow. Itsilenced him; not, however, on account of its pathos, as she thought,but because it interpreted the riddle of Rob's behavior.

  "Nevertheless," he said ultimately, "my duty is not to do what isright in my people's eyes, but what seems right in my own."

  Babbie had not heard him.

  "I saw a face at the window just now," she whispered, drawing closerto him.

  "There was no face there; the very thought of Rob Dow raises himbefore you," Gavin answered reassuringly, though Rob was nearer atthat moment than either of them thought.

  "I must go away at once," she said, still with her eyes on the window."No, no, you shall not come or stay with me; it is you who are indanger."

  "Do not fear for me."

  "I must, if you will not. Before you came in, did I not hear you speakof a meeting you had to attend to-night?"

  "My pray--" His teeth met on the word; so abruptly did it conjure upthe forgotten prayer-meeting that before the shock could reach hismind he stood motionless, listening for the bell. For one instant allthat had taken place since he last heard it might have happenedbetween two of its tinkles; Babbie passed from before him like afigure in a panorama, and he saw, instead, a congregation in theirpews.

  "What do you see?" Babbie cried in alarm, for he seemed to be gazingat the window.

  "Only you," he replied, himself again; "I am coming with you."

  "You must let me go alone," she entreated; "if not for your ownsafety"--but it was only him she considered--"then for the sake ofLord Rintoul. Were you and I to be seen together now, his name andmine might suffer."

  It was an argument the minister could not answer save by putting hishands over his face; his distress made Babbie strong; she moved to thedoor, trying to smile.

  "Go, Babbie!" Gavin said, controlling his voice, though it had been asmile more pitiful than her tears. "God has you in His keeping; it isnot His will to give me this to bear for you."

  They were now in the garden.

  "Do not think of me as unhappy," she said; "it will be happiness to meto try to be all you would have me be."

  He ought to have corrected her. "All that God would have me be," iswhat she should have said. But he only replied, "You will be a goodwoman, and none such can be altogether unhappy; God sees to that."

  He might have kissed her, and perhaps she thought so.

  "I am--I am going now, dear," she said, and came back a step becausehe did not answer; then she went on, and was out of his sight at threeyards' distance. Neither of them heard the approaching dogcart.

  "You see, I am bearing it quite cheerfully," she said. "I shall haveeverything a woman loves; do not grieve for me so much."

  Gavin dared not speak nor move. Never had he found life so hard; buthe was fighting with the ignoble in himself, and winning. She openedthe gate, and it might have been a signal to the dogcart to stop. Theyboth heard a dog barking, and then the voice of Lord Rintoul:

  "That is a light in the window. Jump down, McKenzie, and inquire."

  Gavin took one step nearer Babbie and stopped. He did not see how allher courage went from her, so that her knees yielded, and she heldout her arms to him, but he heard a great sob and then his name.

  "Gavin, I am afraid."

  Gavin understood now, and I say he would have been no man to leave herafter that; only a moment was allo
wed him, and it was their lastchance on earth. He took it. His arm went round his beloved, and hedrew her away from Nanny's.

  McKenzie found both house and garden empty. "And yet," he said, "Iswear some one passed the window as we sighted it."

  "Waste no more time," cried the impatient earl. "We must be very nearthe hill now. You will have to lead the horse, McKenzie, in thisdarkness; the dog may find the way through the broom for us."

  "The dog has run on," McKenzie replied, now in an evil temper. "Whoknows, it may be with her now? So we must feel our way cautiously;there is no call for capsizing the trap in our haste." But there wascall for haste if they were to reach the gypsy encampment before Gavinand Babbie were made man and wife over the tongs.

  The Spittal dogcart rocked as it dragged its way through the broom.Rob Dow followed. The ten o'clock bell began to ring.