dark-red cloth
which gave a semblance of dignity to the seat of authority, which it was
meant to be.

Fleda did not refuse the honour. She had choked back the indignant words
which had rushed to her lips as she left the tent where she had been
lying. Prudence had bade her await developments. She could not yet make
up her mind what to do. It was clear that a bold and deep purpose lay
behind it all, and she could not tell how far-reaching it was, nor what
it represented of rebellion against her father's authority. That it did
represent rebellion she had no doubt. She was well enough aware of the
claims of Jethro's dead father to the leadership, abandoned for three
thousand pounds and marriage with herself; and she was also aware that
while her father's mysterious isolation might possibly have developed a
reverence for him, yet active pressure and calumny might well have
done its work. Also, if the marriage was repudiated, Jethro would be
justified in resuming the family claim to the leadership.

She seated herself upon the scarlet seat with a gesture of thanks,
while the salutations and greetings increased; then she awaited events,
thrilled by the weird and pleasant music, with its touches of Eastern
fantasy. In spite of herself she was moved, as Romanys, men and women,
ran forward in excitement with arms raised towards her as though they
meant to strike her, then suddenly stopped short, made obeisance, called
a greeting, and ran backwards to their places.

Presently a group of men began a ceremony or ritual, before which the
spectators now and again covered their eyes, or bent their heads low, or
turned their backs, and raised their hands in a sort of ascription. As
the ceremony neared its end, with its strange genuflections, a woman
dressed in white was brought forward, her hands bound behind her,
her hair falling over her shoulders, and after a moment of apparent
denunciation on the part of the head of the ceremony, she was suddenly
thrown to the ground, and the pretence of drawing a knife across her
throat was made. As Fleda watched it she shuddered, but presently braced
herself, because she knew that this ritual was meant to show what the
end must be of those who, like herself, proved traitor to the traditions
of race.

It was at this point, when fifty knives flashed in the air, with
vengeful exclamations, that Jethro Fawe appeared in the midst of the
crowd. He was dressed in the well-known clothes which he had w