The Little Minister

by J. M. Barrie

  Chapter Thirty-Three.

  WHILE THE TEN O'CLOCK BELL WAS RINGING.

  _In the square and wynds--weavers in groups_:

  "No, no, Davit, Mr. Dishart hadna felt the blow the piper gave himtill he ascended the pulpit to conduct the prayer-meeting for rain,and then he fainted awa. Tammas Whamond and Peter Tosh carried him tothe Session-house. Ay, an awful scene."

  "How did the minister no come to the meeting? I wonder how you couldexpect it, Snecky, and his mother taen so suddenly ill; he's at herbedside, but the doctor has little hope."

  "This is what has occurred, Tailor: Mr. Dishart never got the lengthof the pulpit. He fell in a swound on the vestry floor. What causedit? Oh, nothing but the heat. Thrums is so dry that one spark wouldset it in a blaze."

  "I canna get at the richts o' what keeped him frae the meeting, Femie,but it had something to do wi' an Egyptian on the hill. Very like hehad been trying to stop the gypsy marriage there. I gaed to the manseto speir at Jean what was wrang, but I'm thinking I telled her mairthan she could tell me."

  "Man, man, Andrew, the wite o't lies wi' Peter Tosh. He thocht we wasto hae sic a terrible rain that he implored the minister no to prayfor it, and so angry was Mr. Dishart that he ordered the whole Sessionout o' the kirk. I saw them in Couthie's close, and michty dour theylooked."

  "Yes, as sure as death, Tammas Whamond locked the kirk-door in Mr.Dishart's face."

  "I'm a' shaking! And small wonder, Marget, when I've heard this minutethat Mr. Dishart's been struck by lichtning while looking for Rob Dow.He's no killed, but, woe's me! they say he'll never preach again."

  "Nothing o' the kind. It was Rob that the lichtning struck dead in thedoctor's machine. The horse wasna touched; it came tearing down theRoods wi' the corpse sitting in the machine like a living man."

  "What are you listening to, woman? Is it to a dog barking? I've heardit this while, but it's far awa."

  _In the manse kitchen_:

  "Jean, did you not hear me ring? I want you to--Why are you staringout at the window, Jean?"

  "I--I was just hearkening to the ten o'clock bell, ma'am."

  "I never saw you doing nothing before! Put the heater in the fire,Jean. I want to iron the minister's neckcloths. The prayer-meeting islong in coming out, is it not?"

  "The--the drouth, ma'am, has been so cruel hard."

  "And, to my shame, I am so comfortable that I almost forgot how othersare suffering. But my son never forgets, Jean. You are not crying, areyou?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "Bring the iron to the parlor, then. And if the minis--Why did youstart, Jean? I only heard a dog barking."

  "I thocht, ma'am--at first I thocht it was Mr. Dishart opening thedoor. Ay, it's just a dog; some gypsy dog on the hill, I'm thinking,for sound would carry far the nicht."

  "Even you, Jean, are nervous at nights, I see, if there is no man inthe house. We shall hear no more distant dogs barking, I warrant, whenthe minister comes home."

  "When he comes home, ma'am."

  _On the middle of a hill--a man and a woman_:

  "Courage, beloved; we are nearly there."

  "But, Gavin, I cannot see the encampment."

  "The night is too dark."

  "But the gypsy fires?"

  "They are in the Toad's-hole."

  "Listen to that dog barking."

  "There are several dogs at the encampment, Babbie."

  "There is one behind us. See, there it is!"

  "I have driven it away, dear. You are trembling."

  "What we are doing frightens me, Gavin. It is at your heels again!"

  "It seems to know you."

  "Oh, Gavin, it is Lord Rintoul's collie Snap. It will bite you."

  "No, I have driven it back again. Probably the earl is following us."

  "Gavin, I cannot go on with this."

  "Quicker, Babbie."

  "Leave me, dear, and save yourself."

  "Lean on me, Babbie."

  "Oh, Gavin, is there no way but this?"

  "No sure way."

  "Even though we are married to-night----"

  "We shall be married in five minutes, and then, whatever befall, hecannot have you."

  "But after?"

  "I will take you straight to the manse, to my mother."

  "Were it not for that dog, I should think we were alone on the hill."

  "But we are not. See, there are the gypsy fires."

  _On the west side of the hill--two figures_:

  "Tammas, Tammas Whamond, I've lost you. Should we gang to the mansedown the fields?"

  "Wheesht, Hendry!"

  "What are you listening for?"

  "I heard a dog barking."

  "Only a gypsy dog, Tammas, barking at the coming storm."

  "The gypsy dogs are all tied up, and this one's atween us and theToad's-hole. What was that?"

  "It was nothing but the rubbing of the branches in the cemetery on aneanother. It's said, trees mak' that fearsome sound when they'reterrified."

  "It was a dog barking at somebody that's stoning it. I ken that sound,Hendry Munn."

  "May I die the death, Tammas Whamond, if a great drap o' rain didnastrike me the now, and I swear it was warm. I'm for running hame."

  "I'm for seeing who drove awa that dog. Come back wi' me, Hendry."

  "I winna. There's no a soul on the hill but you and me and thaedaffing and drinking gypsies. How do you no answer me, Tammas? Hie,Tammas Whamond, whaur are you? He's gone! Ay, then I'll mak' trackshame."

  _In the broom--a dogcart_:

  "Do you see nothing yet, McKenzie?"

  "Scarce the broom at my knees, Rintoul. There is not a light on thehill."

  "McKenzie, can that schoolmaster have deceived us?"

  "It is probable."

  "Urge on the horse, however. There is a road through the broom, Iknow. Have we stuck again?"

  "Rintoul, she is not here. I promised to help you to bring her back tothe Spittal before this escapade became known, but we have failed tofind her. If she is to be saved, it must be by herself. I daresay shehas returned already. Let me turn the horse's head. There is a stormbrewing."

  "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 atnothing. Why do you look behind you so often, McKenzie?"

  "For some time, Rintoul, it has seemed to me that we are beingfollowed. Listen!"

  "I hear nothing. At last, McKenzie, at last, we are out of thebroom."

  "And as I live, Rintoul, I see the gypsy lights!"

  * * * * *

  It might have been a lantern that was flashed across the hill. Thenall that part of the world went suddenly on fire. Everything washorribly distinct in that white light. The firs of Caddam were so nearthat 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 shadowsof men and things. Twice the light flickered and recovered itself. Ared serpent shot across it, and then again black night fell.

  The hill had been illumined thus for nearly half a minute. During thattime not even a dog stirred. The shadows of human beings lay on theground as motionless as logs. What had been revealed seemed less agypsy marriage than a picture. Or was it that during the ceremonyevery 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 andwomen behind him had their mouths open, as if struck when on the pointof calling out. Lord Rintoul had risen in the dogcart and was leaningforward. One of McKenzie's feet was on the shaft. The man crouchingin the dogcart's wake had flung up his hands to protect his face. Theprecentor, his neck outstretched, had a hand on each knee. All eyeswere fixed, as in the death glare, on Gavin and Babbie, who stoodbefore the king, their hands clasped over the tongs. Fear waspetrified on the woman's face, determination on the man's.

  They were all released by the crack of the thunder, but for anothermoment none could have swagg
ered.

  "That was Lord Rintoul in the dogcart," Babbie whispered, drawing inher breath.

  "Yes, dear," Gavin answered resolutely, "and now is the time for me tohave my first and last talk with him. Remain here, Babbie. Do not movetill I come back."

  "But, Gavin, he has seen. I fear him still."

  "He cannot touch you now, Babbie. You are my wife."

  In the vivid light Gavin had thought the dogcart much nearer than itwas. He called Lord Rintoul's name, but got no answer. There wereshouts behind, gypsies running from the coming rain, dogs whining, butsilence in front. The minister moved on some paces. Away to the lefthe heard voices--

  "Who was the man, McKenzie?"

  "My lord, I have lost sight of you. This is not the way to the camp."

  "Tell me, McKenzie, that you did not see what I saw."

  "Rintoul, I beseech you to turn back. We are too late."

  "We are not too late."

  Gavin broke through the darkness between them and him, but they weregone. He called to them, and stopped to listen to their feet.

  "Is that you, Gavin?" Babbie asked just then.

  For reply, the man who had crept up to her clapped his hand upon hermouth. Only the beginning of a scream escaped from her. A strong armdrove her quickly southward.

  Gavin heard her cry, and ran back to the encampment. Babbie was gone.None of the gypsies had seen her since the darkness came back. Herushed hither and thither with a torch that only showed his distractedface to others. He flung up his arms in appeal for another moment oflight; then he heard Babbie scream again, and this time it was from adistance. He dashed after her; he heard a trap speeding down the greensward through the broom.

  Lord Rintoul had kidnapped Babbie. Gavin had no other thought as heran after the dogcart from which the cry had come. The earl's dogfollowed him, snapping at his heels. The rain began.