he loved, whether or not it was the way of law or custom or right.
Outside, the wedding song still made musical the night. Women's voices,
shrill, and with falsetto notes, made the trees ring with it; low, bass
voices gave it a kind of solemnity. The view which the encampment took
of her captivity was clear. Where was the woman that brought her to the
tent--whose tent it was? She seemed kind. Though her face had a hard
look, surely she meant to be friendly. Or did she only mean to betray
her; to give her a fancied security, and leave her to Jethro--and the
night? She looked round for some weapon. There was nothing available
save two brass candlesticks. Though the door of the tent was closed, she
knew that there were watchers outside; that any break for liberty would
only mean defeat, and yet she was determined to save herself.

As she tried to take the measure of the situation and plan what she would
do, the noise of the music suddenly ceased, and she heard a voice, though
low in tone, give some sort of command. Then there was a cry, and what
seemed the chaotic noise of a struggle followed; then a voice a little
louder speaking, a voice of someone she remembered, though she could not
place it. Something vital was happening outside, something punctuated by
sharp, angry exclamations; afterwards a voice speaking soothingly,
firmly, prevailed; and then there was silence. As she listened there was
a footstep at the door of the tent, a voice called to her softly, and a
hand drew aside the tent curtain. The woman who had brought her to this
place entered.

"You are all safe now," she said, reaching out both hands to Fleda. "By
long and by last, but it was a close shave! He meant to make you his
wife to-night, whether you would or no. I'm a Fawe, but I'd have none of
that. I was on my way to your father's house when I met someone--someone
that you know. He carries your father's voice in his mouth."