Her face was white. "But he has not come to the end of the path--has
he?" she asked tremulously. "Who can tell? This day, or twenty years
from now, or to-morrow, or next moon, he will come to the end of the
path. No one knows, he least of all. He will not see the end, because
the road is dark. I don't think it will be soon," he added, because he
saw how haggard her face had grown. "No, I don't think it will be soon.
He is a Fawe, at the head of all the Fawes; so perhaps there will be time
for him to think, and no doubt it will not be soon."

"Perhaps it will not be at all. My father spoke, but he can withdraw his
word," she urged.

Suddenly the old Gipsy's face hardened. A look of dark resolve and iron
force came into it.

"The Ry will not withdraw. He has spoken, and it must be. If he spoke
lightly he is not fit to rule. Unless the word of the Ry of Rys is good
against breaking, then the Romanys are no more than scattered leaves at
the will of the wind. It is the word of the Ry that holds our folk
together. It shall not bless, and it shall not curse in vain."

Pitying the girl's face, however, and realizing that the Gorgio life had
given her a new view of things; angry with her because it was so, but
loving her for herself, he added:

"But the night road may be long, though it is lonely, and if it should be
that the Ry should pass before the end of the road comes to Jethro, then
is Jethro freed, since the Word is gone which binds his feet for the
pitfall."