CHAPTER XXVIII

THE HILL BEFORE DARKNESS FELL— SCENE OF
' THE IMPENDING CATASTROPHE

“ OU are better now?” I heard Gavin ask,
presently.

He thought that having been taken ill sud-
denly I had waved to him for help because he
chanced to be near. With all my wits about me
I might have left him in that belief, for rather
would I have deceived him than had him wonder
why his welfare seemed so vital to me. But I,
who thought the capacity for being taken aback
had gone from me, clung to his arm, and thanked
God audibly that he still lived. He did not tell
me then how my agitation puzzled him, but led
me kindly to the hill, where we could talk with-
out listeners. By the time we reached it I was
again wary, and I had told him what had brought
me to Thrums, without mentioning how the story
of his death reached my ears, or through whom.

“Mr. McKenzie,” he said, interrupting me,
“galloped all the way from the Spittal on the
same errand. However, no one has been hurt
much, except the piper himself.”

Then he told me how the rumour arose.

“You know of the incident at the Spittal, and
that Campbell marched off in high dudgeon?
I understand that he spoke to no one between

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