“What road is that?” she asked. She knew, but she must ask.
“Everybody knows it; everybody goes it some time or another,” he answered darkly.
“What was it you said to all of them outside?”—she made a gesture towards the doorway. “There were angry cries, and I heard Jethro Fawe’s voice.”
“Yes, he was blaspheming,” remarked the old man grimly.
“Tell me what it was you said, and tell me what has happened,” she persisted.
The old man hesitated a moment, then said grimly: “I told them they must go one way and Jethro Fawe another. I told them the Ry of Rys had said no patrins should mark the road Jethro Fawe’s feet walked. I had heard of this gathering here, and I was on my way to bid them begone, for in following the Ry they have broken his command. As I came, I met the woman of this tent who has been your friend. She is a good woman; she has suffered. Her people are gone, but she has a heart for others. I met her. She told me of what that rogue and devil had done and would do. He is the head of the Fawes, but the Ry of Rys is the head of all the Romanys of the world. He has spoken the Word against Jethro, and the Word shall prevail. The Word of the Ry when it is given cannot be withdrawn. It is like the rock on which the hill rests.”
“They did not go with him?” she asked.
“It is not the custom,” he answered sardonically. “That is a path a Romany walks alone.”
Her face was white. “But he has not come to the end of the path—has he?” she asked tremulously. “Who can tell? This day, or twenty years from now, or to-morrow, or next moon, he will come to the end of the path. No one knows, he least of all. He will not see the end, because the road is dark. I don’t think it will be soon,” he added, because he saw how haggard her face had grown. “No, I don’t think it will be soon. He is a Fawe, at the head of all the Fawes; so perhaps there will be time for him to think, and no doubt it will not be soon.”
“Perhaps it will not be at all. My father spoke, but he can withdraw his word,” she urged.