“Did she?” returned Margit, sleepily. “She is a sharp one! But, then, the Vareys have worked through this part of the country for years and years. That is why I was given to them, I think. Perhaps Grace Varey has been to Centerport many times—I do not know. We Romany folk pick up all sorts of information—yes!”
Bobby stole into bed beside Eve. She could not sleep for some time; but finally her eyes closed and—for some hours, or some minutes, she never knew which—she slept. Then, a dog’s howling broke her rest.
Bobby sat up and listened. The dog’s mournful howling sounded nearer. Some dog about the Sitz premises answered with several savage barks. But, as nothing followed, the city girl dropped back upon her pillows again.
The night noises of the country, however, disturbed her. She could not sleep soundly. Once she thought she heard voices—and so clearly that it seemed as though they must be in the bedroom.
But it was still dark. Nobody could be astir, she told herself, at such a dark hour. A rooster crowed, and then several others followed. She fell asleep again slowly counting the chanticleers.
And then—suddenly, it seemed—Eve was shaking her and calling in her ear:
“Oh, Bobby! Bobby! Wake up—do! What do you suppose has happened?”
It was broad daylight. Eve was more than half dressed and the door between their room and that occupied by the Gypsy girl was open.
“What’s the matter?” gasped Bobby.
“She’s gone!” wailed Eve.