II
I had scarce advanced an hundred paces ere I espied a murmurous brook and at the same time was aware of snapping of twigs and sounds of one, who burst through all obstacles in desperate flight. I gazed wildly about and espied a gypsy girl, who came bounding adown the steep. At sight of me she checked and stood at gaze.
There she stood, a young dryad of the woods, gray eyes adream, passionate with life yet boldly virginal.
“Who the hell are you?” she murmured softly. Then she seized me by the hand. “Come, let’s run,” she quoth; “they’re after me.”
“Oh,” I gasped, “who?”
“Shadrach, Meschech and Abednego,” she stated briefly, “The Rommany Three. Count them!” and so saying, she fled, I perforce following.
Ensued wild scramble through dismal wood, where mournful wind stirred, trees dankly dripped, wet leaves brushed faces, rain-sodden underbrush clung about wearied limbs. Came we at last out upon a broad highway, between grassy banks, topped by hedgerows and trees, whose wide-flung rustling leafage cast a pleasant shade, while, high in air, a lark caroled, faint and sweet against the blue.