They had not heard him till he was within a few feet of
where Jethro Fawe stood. His walking had been muffled in the dust of the
pathway.
The Ry started when he saw Jethro Fawe; then he made a motion as though
he would seize the intruder, who was too dumbfounded to flee; but he
recovered himself, and gazed up at the open window.
"Fleda!" he called.
She came to the window again.
"Has this man come here against your will?" he asked, not as though
seeking information, but confirmation of his own understanding.
"He is not here by my will," she answered. "He came to sing the Song of
Hate under my window, to tell me that he had--"
"That I had brought the Master Gorgio to the ground," said Jethro, who
now stood with sullen passiveness looking at Gabriel Druse.
"From the Master Gorgio, as you call him, I have just come," returned the
old man. "When I heard the news, I went to him. It was you who betrayed
him to the mob, and--"
"Wait, wait," Fleda cried in agitation. "Is--is he dead?"
"He is alive, but terribly hurt; and he may die," was the reply.
Then the old man turned to the Romany with a great anger and
determination in his face. He stretched out an arm, making a sign as
cabalistic as that which Fleda had used against her invisible foe in the
bedroom.
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