He knew now that whatever he might do, some time, not far, his doom
would fall upon him suddenly, as a wind shoots up a ravine from the
desert, or a nightbird rises from the dark.
He set his feet stubbornly, and raised his sullen face and fanatical
eyes. The light of morning was creeping through the starshine, and his
features showed plainly.
"I am your daughter's husband," he said. "Nothing can change that. It was
done by the River Starzke, and it was the word of the Ry of Rys. It
stands for ever. There is no divorce except death for the Romany."
"The patrins cease to mark the way," returned the old man with a swift
gesture. "The divorce of death will come."
Jethro's face grew still paler, and he opened his lips to speak, but
paused, seeing Fleda, with a backward look of pity and of horror, draw
back into the darkness of her room.
He made a motion of passion and despair. His voice was almost shrill when
he spoke. "Till that divorce comes, the daughter of the Ry of Rys is
mine!" he cried sharply. "I will not give my wife to a Gorgio thief. His
hands shall not caress her, his eyes shall not feed upon her--"
"His eyes will not feed upon her," interrupted the old man, "So cease the
prattle which can alter nothing.
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