“I have come to say good-bye,” said she. “Yes, I am going, and you must not tell anybody. I can’t stay any more in our camp. I shall take my guitar and go and make my living by singing at fairs, as I have done before. So I’ve come to say good-bye to you first.”
Maggie was too much surprised to answer.
“It is because of the man you saw,” continued Rhoda, “the man I will not sing for. He is the richest gipsy in the country, and I hate him; but he loves me. My mother says I must marry him. He has given her presents of money and necklaces and fine clothes, and she has promised me to him. They don’t know I have gone, but by to-night I shall be miles away, and I will never come back. He is the most hateful man in the world.”
“And now I shall never see you any more!” cried Maggie.
“Oh, but I hope you will,” replied Rhoda. “I like you, and you like me, and when you are at a fair some day, you’ll hear my guitar, and come and speak to me and be glad to see me. You will, won’t you?”
And she turned away towards the edge of the wood, and Maggie went a little distance with her.
“May I tell Dan?” she asked, as they parted.
“Oh, Dan knows,” said Rhoda.
Then she went away through the tree-stems into the open country, and Maggie stood at the outskirts of the wood watching her until she disappeared among the shorn fields, looking back and waving her hand.
She was sad for a long time after that. Dan said nothing of what he knew, and when she tried to speak to him, he got out of her way. She did not even tell Alfonso or the Cochin-Chinaman what had happened; though, to be sure, it would have been safe enough, for, even if they had spoken of it, no one but herself could have understood them. Once she saw the rich gipsy with the evil face and silver rings prowling about the vans, which made her so frightened that she got into one of them and locked herself in. No one else had seen Rhoda when she came to say good-bye, and there was nothing to do but to keep her own counsel and hope that in time she might meet her friend again.