of the day. Your call was heard
always, now here, now there, and the Romanys were one; they held
together."

The old man's face darkened still more and his eyes flashed fire. "These
are lies you are telling, and they will choke you, my Romany 'chal'. Am
I deceived, I who have known more liars than any man under the sky? Am
I to be fooled, who have seen so many fools in their folly? There is
roguery in you, or I have never seen roguery."

"I am a true Romany, my Ry," the other answered with an air of courage
and a little defiance also.

"You are a rogue and a liar, that is sure. These wailings are your own.
The Romany goes on his way as he has gone these hundreds of years. If I
am silent, my people will wait until I speak again; if they see me not
they will wait till I enter their camps once more. Why are you here?
Speak, rogue and liar." The wrathful old man, sure in his reading of
the youth, towered above him commandingly. It almost seemed as though he
would do him bodily harm, so threatening was his attitude, but the young
Romany raised his head, and with a note of triumph said:

"I have come for my own, as it is my right."

"What is your own?"

"What has been yours until now, my Ry."

A grey look stole slowly up the strong face of the exiled leader, for
his mind suddenly read the truth behind the young man's confident words.

"What is mine is always mine," he answered roughly. "Speak! What is it I
have that you come for?"

The young man braced himself and put a hand upon his lips. "I come for
your daughter, my Ry." The old man suddenly regained his composure, and
authority spoke in his bearing and his words. "What have you to do with
my daughter?"

"She was married to me when I was seven years of age, as my Ry knows.
I am the son of Lemuel Fawe--Jethro Fawe is my name. For three thousand
pounds it was so arranged. On his death-bed three thousand pounds did
my father give to you for this betrothal. I was but a child, yet I
remembered, and my kinsmen remembered, for it is their honour also. I am
the son of Lemuel Fawe, the husband of Fleda, daughter of Gabriel Druse,
King and Duke and Earl of all the Romanys; and I come for my own."

Something very like a sigh of relief came from Gabriel Druse's lips, but
the anger in his face did not pass, and a rigid pride made the distance
between them endless. He looked like a patriarch giving judgment as he
raised his hand and pointed with a menacing finger at Jethro