the crowd, and said:

"I am the daughter of the Ry of Rys still, though I am a Romany no
longer. I made a pledge to be no more a Romany and I will keep it; yet
you and all Romany people are dear to me because through long generations
the Druses have been of you. You have brought me here against my will.
Do you think the Ry of Rys will forgive that? In your words you have
been kind to me, but yet you have threatened me. Do you think that a
Druse has any fear? Did a Druse ever turn his cheek to be smitten? You
know what the Druses are. I am a Druse still. I will not talk longer,
I have nothing to say to you all except that you must take me back to my
father, and I will see that he forgives you. Some of you have done this
out of love; some of you have done it out of hate; yet set me free again
upon the path to my home, and I shall forget it, and the Ry of Rys will
forget it."

At that instant there suddenly came forward from the doorway of a tent
on the outskirts of the crowd a stalwart woman, with a strong face and
a self-reliant manner. She was still young, but her slightly pockmarked
countenance showed the wear and tear of sorrow of some kind. She had,
indeed, lost her husband and her father in the Montenegrin wars.
Hastening forward to Fleda she reached out a hand.

"Come with me," she said; "come and sleep in my tent to-night. To-morrow
you shall go back to the Ry of Rys, perhaps. Come with me."

There was a sudden murmuring in the crowd, which was stilled by a motion
of Jethro Fawe's hand, and a moment afterwards Fleda gave her hand to the
woman.