She opened the door and
stood aside to admit the wayfarer.
A few moments later, the woman, tidied and freshened, sat at the ample
breakfast which was characteristic of Romany home-life. The woman's plate
was bountifully supplied by Fleda, and her cup filled more than once by
Madame Bulteel, while old Gabriel Druse bulked friendly over all. His
face now showed none of the passion and sternness which had been present
when he passed the Sentence of the Patrin upon Jethro Fawe; nothing of
the gloom filling his eyes as he left Ingolby's house. The gracious,
bountiful look of the patriarch, of the head of the clan, was upon him.
The husband of one wife, the father of one child, yet the Ry of Rys had
still the overlooking, protective sense of one who had the care of great
numbers of people. His keen eyes foresaw more of the story the woman was
to tell presently than either of the women of his household. He had seen
many such women as this, and had inflexibly judged between them and those
who had wronged them.
"Where have you come from?" he asked, as the meal drew to a close.
"From Wind River and under Elk Mountain," the woman answered with a look
of relief. Her face was of those who no longer can bear the soul's
secrets.
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