tting out the
camp-fires and the people. "Here--now--come. Be mine while they sing."

For one swift moment the great passion and eloquence of the man lifted
her off her feet; for one instant the Romany in her triumphed, and a
thrill of passion passed through her, storming her senses, like a mist
shutting out all the rest of the world. This Romany was right; there was
in her the wild thing--the everlasting strain of race and years breaking
down all the defences which civilized life had built up within her. Just
for one instant so--and then there flashed before her a face with two
blind eyes.

Like a stream of ether playing upon warm flesh, making it icy cold, so
something of the ineradicable good in her swept like a frozen spray
upon the elements of emotion, and with both hands she made a gesture of
repulsion.

His eyes with their reddish glow burned nearer and nearer to her. He
bulked over her, driving her back against the couch by the tent wall.
For an instant like that--and then, with clenched hand, she struck him
in the face.

Swift as had been the change in her, so a change like a cyclone swept
over him. The hysterical passion which had possessed him suddenly
passed, and a dark, sullen determination swept into his eyes and over
his face. His lips parted in a savage smile.

"Hell, so that's what you've learned in the Gorgio world, is it?" he
asked malevolently. "Then I'll teach you what they do in the Romany
world; and to-morrow you can put the two together and see what they look
like."

With a Romany expletive, he flung back the curtain of the tent and
passed out into the night.

For a long time Fleda sat stunned and overcome by the side of the
couch, her brain tortured by a thousand thoughts. She knew there was no
immediate escape from the encampment. She could only rely upon the hue
and cry which would be raised and the certain hunt which would be made
for her. But what might not happen before any rescue came? The ancient
grudge of the Fawes against the Druses had gained power and activity by
the self-imposed exile of Gabriel Druse; and Jethro had worked upon it.
The veiled threats which Jethro had made she did not despise. He was a
barbarian. He would kill what he loved; he would have his way with
what he loved, whether or not it was the way of law or custom or right.
Outside, the wedding song still made musical the night. Women's voices,
shrill, and with falsetto notes, made the trees ring with it; low,