“Well, you stay here then, Crisp, until I go home and tell my mother, and I will go if you will promise to come back with me, or let me come.”
“Why, yes, I will let you come, but you won’t have time to wait. You must come right away, or Maam might be dead when you got there.”
Poor Zula did not know what to do. She feared Crisp, and she could not bear the thought of going without Mrs. Platts’ consent, and then when she thought of poor Meg dying and longing to see her, her tender heart yielded, and she thought she must go to her. She would explain all to Mrs. Platts when she returned, and she knew she would forgive her.
“Crisp,” she said again, “are you speaking the truth?”
“Oh, dear, yes; do come, or we won’t see her again at all,” Crisp replied, in a troubled voice.
She looked again at Crisp’s ugly face, and then she thought of all the cruel blows he had given her. She knew that the road to the camp with him would be a dangerous one, but she thought of poor old Meg dying, and longing to see her, and if she had been cruel to her, she was her mother, and she would go if Crisp would promise to bring her back that night.
He gave a solemn promise to do so, and Zula walking 55 along hurriedly, by his side, wondered whether he had really told the truth, or was it all a fabrication of his own. Crisp questioned Zula as to where she had lived, and whether she had to work since she left them, and why she did not bring back the money she got for the beadwork, to which Zula replied that she could give them that amount now.
They reached the camp. All was still, for the gypsies were sleeping soundly.
“Come still,” said Crisp, gliding into one of the tents. “’Cause you might wake her.”
Zula followed softly, but no sooner had she entered the tent than she was seized by Crisp, and her hands bound tightly behind her. Old Meg arose from her straw bed, and, opening wide her eyes, looked in wonder at Zula, and as a grin of satisfaction passed over her face, she asked: