180 The Little Minister

coming to see her soon, perhaps on Monday.
I don’t suppose you will be there on Monday,
Mr. Dishart?”

“© J —I cannot say.”

“No, you will be too busy. Are you to take
the holly berries?”

“J had better not,” said Gavin, dolefully.

“Oh, if you don’t want them —”

“ Give them to me,” he said, and as he took
them his hand shook.

“T know why you are looking so troubled,”
said the Egyptian, archly. ‘“ You think I am to
ask you the colour of my eyes, and you have for-
_ gotten again.”

He would have answered, but she checked him.

“Make no pretence,” she said, severely; “I
know you think they are blue.”

She came close to him until her face almost
touched his.

“Look hard at them,” she said, solemnly,
“and after this you may remember that they are
black, black, black!”

At each repetition of the word she shook her
head in his face. She was adorable. Gavin’s
arms — but they met on nothing. She had run
away.

When the little minister had gone, a man came
from behind a tree and shook his fist in the
direction taken by the gypsy. It was Rob Dow,
black with passion.

“It’s the Egyptian!” hecried. “You limmer,
wha are you that hae got haud o’ the minister?”

He pursued her, but she vanished as from
Gavin in Windyghoul.