"He must not die," she insisted.

"Then the Ry of Rys must not live," he rejoined sternly. With a kindly
gesture, however, he stretched out his hand. "Come, we shall reach the
house of the Ry before the morning," he added. "He is not returned from
his journey, and so will not be troubled by having missed you. There
will be an hour for beauty-sleep before the sun rises," he continued with
the same wide smile with which he greeted her first. Then he lifted up
the curtain and passed out into the night.

Following him, Fleda saw that the Romanys had broken camp, and only a
small handful remained, among them the woman who had befriended her.
Fleda went up to her:

"I will never forget you," she said. "Will you wear this for me?" she
added, and she took from her throat a brooch which she had worn ever
since her first days in England, after her great illness there. The
woman accepted the brooch. "Lady love," she said, "you've lost your
sleep to-night, but that's a loss you can make good. If there's a
night's sleep owing you, you can collect the debt some time. No, a
night's sleep lost in a tent is nothing, if you're the only one in the
tent. But if you're not alone, and you lose a night's sleep, someone
else may pick it up, and you might never get it again!"

A flush slowly stole over Fleda's face, and a look of horror came into
her eyes. She read the parable aright.

"Will you let me kiss you?" she said to the woman, and now it was the
woman's turn to flush.