though it was that
old enemy himself.

"I have said what I have said, and there is no more to be spoken. The
rule of the Ry will be as water for ever after if these things may be
done to him and his. For generations have the Rys of all the Rys been
like the trees that bend only to the whirlwind; and when they speak
there is no more to be said. When it ceases to be so, then the Rys will
vanish from the world, and be as stubble of the field ready for the
burning. I have spoken. Go! And no patrins shall lie upon your road."

A look of savage obedience and sullen acquiescence came into Jethro
Fawe's face, and he took off his hat as one who stands in the presence
of his master. The strain of generations, the tradition of the race
without a country was stronger than the revolt in his soul. He was
young, his blood was hot and brawling in his veins, he was all carnal,
with the superior intelligence of the trained animal, but custom was
stronger than all. He knew now that whatever he might do, some time, not
far, his doom would fall upon him suddenly, as a wind shoots up a ravine
from the desert, or a nightbird rises from the dark.

He set his feet stubbornly, and raised his sullen face and fanatical
eyes. The light of morning was creeping through the starshine, and his
features showed plainly.

"I am your daughter's husband," he said. "Nothing can change that. It
was done by the River Starzke, and it was the word of the Ry of Rys. It
stands for ever. There is no divorce except death for the Romany."

"The patrins cease to mark the way," returned the old man with a swift
gesture. "The divorce of death will come."

Jethro's face grew still paler, and he opened his lips to speak, but
paused, seeing Fleda, with a backward look of pity and of horror, draw
back into the darkness of her room.

He made a motion of passion and despair. His voice was almost shrill
when he spoke. "Till that divorce comes, the daughter of the Ry of Rys
is mine!" he cried sharply. "I will not give my wife to a Gorgio thief.
His hands shall not caress her, his eyes shall not feed upon her--"

"His eyes will not feed upon her," interrupted the old man, "So cease
the prattle which can alter nothing. Begone."

For a moment Jethro Fawe stood like one who did not understand what was
said to him, but suddenly a look of triumph and malice came into his
face, and his eyes lighted with a reckless fire. He threw back his head,
and laughed with a strange, off