She came forth at last, and when I sprang toward her, caught me firmly by the hand.
“Come,” she said, “the oath falls back here—the gipsy blood will not fail me when it is only us.”
“What do you mean, mamma? Have you seen him, the Busne?”
“Yes!”
“Was he awake, mamma?”
“Awake!” and her laugh was fearful. “Child, do you think he could sleep?—can ever sleep again?”
“Did he say anything? Was he sorry for striking me?”
“Hush!” said my mother, sharply, “he has struck us both, the body for my child—the heart for me!”
“Did you strike him back, mother?”
“No, but I will. The stone that crushes me shall fall on his soul.”