The Twenty-four Hours 265

their arms, that is a hat or a basket, I am seldom
sure which. The Egyptian’s beauty, therefore,
was a gladsome sight to me, and none the less so
that I had come upon it as unexpectedly as some
men step into a bog. Had she been alone when
I met her I cannot deny that I would have been
content to look on her face, without caring what
was inside it; but she was with her lover, and
that lover was Gavin, and so her face was to me
as little for admiring as this glen in a thunder-
storm, when I know that some fellow creature is
lost on the hills.

If, however, it was no quick liking for the gypsy
that almost tempted me to leave these two lovers
to each other, what was it? It was the warning
of my own life. Adam Dishart had torn my
arm from Margaret’s, and I had not recovered
the wrench in eighteen years. Rather than act
his part between these two I felt tempted to tell
them, “ Deplorable as the result may be, if you
who area minister marry this vagabond, it will be
still more deplorable if you do not.”

But there was Margaret to consider, and at
thought of her I cursed the Egyptian aloud.
What could I do to keep Gavin and the woman
apart? I could tell him the secret of his mother’s
life. Would that be sufficient? It would if he
loved Margaret, as I did not doubt. Pity for
her would make him undergo any torture rather
than she should suffer again. But to divulge our
old connection would entail her discovery of me,
and I questioned if even the saving of Gavin could
destroy the bitterness of that.

I might appeal to the Egyptian. I might tell