“I winna speak low. Let me in. I hae news for the minister’s mother.”

“What news?” demanded Jean.

“Jean Proctor, as chief elder of the kirk I order you to let me do my duty.”

“Whaur’s the minister?”

“He’s a minister no longer. He’s married a gypsy woman and run awa wi’ her.”

“You lie, Tammas Whamond. I believe——”

“Your belief’s of no consequence. Open the door, and let me in to tell your mistress what I hae seen.”

“She’ll hear it first frae his ain lips if she hears it ava. I winna open the door.”

“Then I’ll burst it open.”

Whamond flung himself at the door, and Jean, her fingers rigid with fear, stood waiting for its fall. But the rain came to her rescue by lashing the precentor until even he was forced to run from it.