Nan of the Gypsies

by Grace May North

Unheeded the tears rolled down the wrinkled cheeks of Miss Dahlia as the stranger, with evident emotion, stepped forward, and held out both hands to the wondering girl, “And so you are Elenan, my dear sister’s little daughter.”

Nan looked, not only amazed, but distressed. “Oh, sir,” she cried, “you are not a gypsy. My mother, wasn’t she a gypsy after all?” Tears sprang to her dark eyes and the hand which Miss Dahlia held was trembling. The gentleman seemed surprised, but the little old lady explained, “Our Nan has been picturing her mother and father all these years as gypsies, and it is hard for her to change her thought about them.”

The man advanced and took the girl’s hands, and looking down at her earnestly, he said sincerely: “I am glad to find that you are not ashamed of your father’s people, for he truly was a gypsy. He was Manna Lou’s only brother. Now, if we may all be seated I will tell you the story. Your mother was born in a grey stone chateau overlooking the Danube River. Our father died when she was very young and our mother soon followed and so my orphaned little sister was left to my care. I thought that I was doing my best for her when I had her instructed in languages and arts, and then, just as she was budding into a charming and cultivated young womanhood, I had her betrothed to a descendant of Prince Couza.

“Other Rumanian young ladies envied my sister the social position which this alliance would give her, but Elenan begged me not to coerce her to marry a man whom she did not love. I was stern and unrelenting. All too late I learned that my sister loved Romola, a gypsy musician who was so rarely gifted that as a boy he had often played at the court for the king and queen. From them he had received many favors. He was placed in a monastery school to be educated, and, at his request, his younger sister Manna Lou was placed in a convent where she learned many things that other girls of her race never knew, but when they were old enough to do as they wished, gypsy fashion, they returned to the roaming life which was all that their ancestors had ever known.

“Often, Romola played the small harp he had fashioned in the court of Prince Couza, and it was there my sister met him. They loved each other dearly and were secretly married. I was away in another part of the country at the time, and, when I returned they had been gone for a fortnight. I searched everywhere for the gypsy band to which Romola belonged, but no one knew where it had gone.”

The gentleman looked thoughtfully at the girl for a moment and then he continued: “I never fully abandoned the search, but, not knowing that they had come to America, I followed clues that led nowhere. I now know what happened. The son of Queen Mizella, fearing arrest for some misdeed, crossed the ocean to America and with them was my sister disguised as a gypsy.

“But on the voyage over your father Romola sickened and died. My poor sister was heart-broken and lived only long enough to give birth to a daughter, whom she left in the care of Manna Lou. She asked that kind gypsy woman to bring you up as one of her own band until you were eighteen. Then as your mother knew, you would inherit her share of the Alecsandri estate, and she asked Manna Lou, if it were possible when you reached that age to take you back to Rumania and to me. This, of course, the faithful gypsy woman could not do, but, with her band, she returned last summer and came to tell me the story. I had long grieved over my sister’s loss not knowing to what desperation I had driven her, and so I at once set sail for America in search of her child. All that Manna Lou could tell me was that you had left the caravan near San Seritos, in California. When I arrived here and made inquiries, I learned that a gypsy girl had been adopted five years ago by Miss Barrington, and now, my quest is ended. I have found my sister’s little girl.”

Before Nan could reply. Miss Dahlia, glancing out of the window, exclaimed: “Nan, darling, Robert Widdemere is coming, and his mother is with him.”

The girl sprang up. “Aunt Dahlia, Monsieur Alecsandri, if you will excuse me, I will admit Mrs. Widdemere and Robert. I would rather meet them alone.” And so, before the lad had time to lift the heavy carved knocker, the door was opened by Nan. After a rather formal greeting, she led them into a small reception room.

It was hard for her to understand why Mrs. Widdemere had come, and she still felt dazed because of all she had so suddenly learned of her own dear mother.