Suddenly the old Gipsy’s face hardened. A look of dark resolve and iron force came into it.
“The Ry will not withdraw. He has spoken, and it must be. If he spoke lightly he is not fit to rule. Unless the word of the Ry of Rys is good against breaking, then the Romanys are no more than scattered leaves at the will of the wind. It is the word of the Ry that holds our folk together. It shall not bless, and it shall not curse in vain.”
Pitying the girl’s face, however, and realizing that the Gorgio life had given her a new view of things; angry with her because it was so, but loving her for herself, he added:
“But the night road may be long, though it is lonely, and if it should be that the Ry should pass before the end of the road comes to Jethro, then is Jethro freed, since the Word is gone which binds his feet for the pitfall.”
“He must not die,” she insisted.
“Then the Ry of Rys must not live,” he rejoined sternly. With a kindly gesture, however, he stretched out his hand. “Come, we shall reach the house of the Ry before the morning,” he added. “He is not returned from his journey, and so will not be troubled by having missed you. There will be an hour for beauty-sleep before the sun rises,” he continued with the same wide smile with which he greeted her first. Then he lifted up the curtain and passed out into the night.
Following him, Fleda saw that the Romanys had broken camp, and only a small handful remained, among them the woman who had befriended her. Fleda went up to her:
“I will never forget you,” she said. “Will you wear this for me?” she added, and she took from her throat a brooch which she had worn ever since her first days in England, after her great illness there. The woman accepted the brooch. “Lady love,” she said, “you’ve lost your sleep to-night, but that’s a loss you can make good. If there’s a night’s sleep owing you, you can collect the debt some time. No, a night’s sleep lost in a tent is nothing, if you’re the only one in the tent. But if you’re not alone, and you lose a night’s sleep, someone else may pick it up, and you might never get it again!”
A flush slowly stole over Fleda’s face, and a look of horror came into her eyes. She read the parable aright.
“Will you let me kiss you?” she said to the woman, and now it was the woman’s turn to flush.