man's eyes suddenly took on a dreaming, subtle look,
submerging the sulkiness which had filled him. Twice he essayed to
speak, but faltered. At last, with an air, he said:

"For seventeen years I have kept the faith. I was sealed to you, and
I hold by the sealing. Wherever you went, it was known to me. In my
thoughts I followed. I read the Gorgio books; I made ready for this day.
I saw you as you were that day by Starzke, like the young bird in the
nest; and the thought of it was with me always. I knew that when I saw
you again the brown eyes would be browner, the words at the lips would
be sweeter--and so it is. All is as I dreamed for these long years. I
was ever faithful. By night and day I saw you as you were when Romany
law made you mine for ever. I looked forward to the day when I would
take you to my 'tan', and there we two would--"

A flush sprang suddenly to Fleda Druse's face, then slowly faded,
leaving it pale and indignant. Sharply she interrupted him.

"They should have called you Ananias," she said scornfully. "My father
has called you a rogue, and now I know you are one. I have not heard,
but I know--I know that you have had a hundred loves, and been true
to none. The red scarfs you have given to the Romany and the Gorgio
fly-aways would make a tent for all the Fawes in all the world."

At first he flung up his head in astonishment at her words, then, as she
proceeded, a flush swept across his face and his eyes filled up again
with sullenness. She had read the real truth concerning him. He had gone
too far. He had been convincing while he had said what was true, but her
instinct had suddenly told her what he was. Her perception had pierced
to the core of his life--a vagabondage, a little more gilded than was
common among his fellows, made possible by his position as the successor
to her father, and by the money of Lemuel Fawe which he had dissipated.

He had come when all his gold was gone to do the one bold thing which
might at once restore his fortunes. He had brains, and he knew now that
his adventure was in grave peril.

He laughed in his anger. "Is only the Gorgio to embrace the Romany lass?
One fondled mine to-day in his arms down there at Carillon. That's the
way it goes! The old song tells the end of it:

"'But the Gorgio lies 'neath the beech-wood tree;
He'll broach my tan no more;
And my love she sleeps afar from me,
But near to the churchyard door.