It was a human cry. It was Tom’s voice.
Chapter X
THE END OF THE WEEK
Gypsy threw down the gun, and threw up her hands with a curious quick motion, like one in suffocation, who was trying to find a voice; but she did not utter a sound.
There was an instant’s awful stillness. In that instant, it seemed to Gypsy as if she had lived a great many years; in that instant, even Sarah’s frightened cries were frozen.
Then the bushes parted, and some one sprang through. Gypsy knew the face all blackened and marred with powder—the face dearer to her than any on earth but her mother’s. So she had not killed him—thank God, thank God!