“What are you looking at so earnestly, my bird?” said the young man, reaching forth his hand as if to draw her closer to his side.
But she hung back, and for the first time seemed to shrink from him.
“Will you not speak? Are you afraid of me, Aurora?” he added with a tone of feeling that changed her face in an instant.
“Afraid! no, no—that is not the word—but this moment, something came over me as I looked upon our fires up the ravine yonder. It seems as if every cave were full of light this evening, and our people—my people—were rejoicing over something.”
“Well, child, and what then? Why should this make you shrink away from me thus?” questioned the young man, smiling gently upon her as he spoke.
“It may be over his return.”
She spoke the word with a sort of gasp, and of her own accord crept close to his side, drawing a deep breath as he folded her with his arm.
“His return! Of whom do you speak, little one?”
“Of—of Chaleco,” faltered the gipsy child.
“And who is Chaleco?”