ing." All she had to do was to be "on show"; nothing, nothing,
nothing else--

"And die away the life between."

And then came the time when, like Pompilia, she had "something she must
care about"; and the office asked of her was to "assist at the
disemboweling" of a noble, harried stag! Not even when she pleaded the
hour that awaited her was pity shown, was love shown, for herself or for
the coming child. And then the long, spiteful lecture. . . . That night,
even to Jacynth, not a word could she utter. Here was a world without
love, a world that did not want her--and _she_ was here, and she must
stay, until, until . . . Which would the coming child be--herself again,
or _him_ again? Scarce she knew which would be the sadder happening.

And then Love walked in upon her. She was "of their tribe"--they wanted
her; they wanted all she was. Just what she was; she would not have to
change; they wanted her. They liked her eyes, and the colour on her
cheek--they liked _her_. Her eyes might look at them, and "speak true,"
for they wanted just that truth from just those eyes.

It is any escape, any finding of our "tribe"! It is the self-realisation
of a nature that can love. And this is but one way of telling the great
tale. Browning told it thus, because for years a song had jingled in his
ears of "Following the Queen of the Gipsies, O!"--and to all of us, the
Gipsies stand for freedom, for knowledge of the great earth-secrets, for
nourishment of heart and soul. But we need not follow only them to
compass "the thrill of the great deliverance." We need but know, as the
little Duchess knew, what it is that we want, and trust it. _She_ placed
the old woman at once upon her own "seat of state": from the moment she
beheld her, love leaped forth and crowned the messenger of love.

"And so at last we find my tribe,
And so I set thee in the midst . . .
Henceforth be loved as heart can love. . . .
It is our life at thy feet we throw
To step with into light and joy."

The Duchess heard, and knew, and was saved. It needed courage--needed
swift decision--needed even some small abandonment of "duty." But she
saw what she must do, and did it. Duty has two voices often; the Duchess
heard the true voice. If she was bewitched, it was by the spell that was
ordained to save her, could she hear it. . . . And that she heard
aright, that, leaving the castle, she left the hell where love lives
not, we know from t