He had had no
intimates among the Romany people. His life he lived alone. That the
daughter of the Ry of Rys should kiss him was a thing of which he would
dream when deeds were done and over and the shadows threatened.
"I will kiss you again in another fifteen years," she said half-smiling
through her tears. "But tell me--tell me what has happened."
"Jethro Fawe has gone," he answered with a sweeping outward gesture.
"Where has he gone?" she asked, apprehension seizing her.
"A journey into the night," responded the old man with scorn and wrath in
his tone, and his lips were set.
"Is he going far?" she asked.
"The road you might think long would be short to him," he answered.
Her hands became cold; her heart seemed to stop beating.
"What road is that?" she asked. She knew, but she must ask.
"Everybody knows it; everybody goes it some time or another," he answered
darkly.
"What was it you said to all of them outside?"--she made a gesture
towards the doorway. "There were angry cries, and I heard Jethro Fawe's
voice."
"Yes, he was blaspheming," remarked the old man grimly.
"Tell me what it was you said, and tell me what has happened," she
persisted.
The old man hesitated a moment, then said grimly: "I told them they must
go one way and Jethro Fawe another.
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