ship.

Notwithstanding the Ry of Rys' prohibition, there had drawn nearer and
ever nearer to him, from the Romany world he had abandoned, many of
his people, never, however, actually coming within his vision till the
appearance of Jethro Fawe. Here and there on the prairie, to a point
just beyond Gabriel Druse's horizon, they had come from all parts of the
world; and Jethro, reckless and defiant under the Sentence, and knowing
that the chances against his life were a million to one, had determined
on one bold stroke which, if it failed, would make his fate no worse,
and, if it succeeded, would give him his wife and, maybe, headship over
all the Romany world. For weeks he had planned, watched and waited,
filling the woods with his adherents, secretly following Fleda day by
day, until, at last, the place, the opportunity, seemed perfect; and
here she lay in a Romany tan once more, with the flickering fires
outside in the night, and the sentry at her doorway. This watchman was
not Jethro Fawe, but she knew well that Jethro was not far off.

Through the open door of the tent, for some minutes, her eyes studied
the segment of the circle within her vision, and she realized that here
was an organized attempt to force her back into the Romany world. If she
repudiated the Gorgio life and acknowledged herself a Romany once again,
she knew her safety would be secured; but in truth she had no fear for
her life, for no one would dare to defy the Ry of Rys so far as to
kill his daughter. But she was in danger of another kind--in deep
and terrible danger; and she knew it well. As the thought of it took
possession of her, her heart seemed almost to burst. Not fear, but anger
and emotion possessed her. All the Romany in her stormed back again from
the past. It sent her to her feet with a scarcely smothered cry. She was
not quicker, however, than was the figure at the tent door, which, with
a half-dozen others, sprang up as she appeared. A hand was raised, and,
as if by magic, groups of Gipsies, some sitting, some standing, some
with the Gipsy fiddle, one or two with flutes, began a Romany chant in
a high, victorious key, and women threw upon the fire powders from which
flamed up many coloured lights.

In a moment the camp was transformed. From the woods around came
swarthy-faced men, with great gold rings in their ears and bright scarfs
around their necks or waists, some of them handsome, dirty and insolent;
others ugly, watchful, and