Now I recognized my gipsy mother. She turned to me, and a straggling moonbeam touched her face.
“Zana, do you know what an oath is?”
“Yes, mamma, I heard you mention the word in your sleep, and so asked Turner.”
“I have sworn an oath, Zana. Will you help me keep it?”
“I will help you, mamma.”
“Let me make you strong with my kisses, Zana, you are no child.”
I clung to her, answering back that wild caress, for my heart was burning with a sense of her wrongs.
“I was a child once, mother, but that has all gone by. I am something else now; not a woman like you, but sharper, like a little dagger with bright stones on the hilt, that you sometimes fasten up your hair with. The handle is so pretty; but the point, isn’t that sharp?”
“It was well I left it behind, to-night, Zana.”
“You could not leave me behind, I would go!”