iven from a Romany camp. She opened the door
and stood aside to admit the wayfarer.

A few moments later, the woman, tidied and freshened, sat at the ample
breakfast which was characteristic of Romany home-life. The woman's
plate was bountifully supplied by Fleda, and her cup filled more than
once by Madame Bulteel, while old Gabriel Druse bulked friendly over
all. His face now showed none of the passion and sternness which had
been present when he passed the Sentence of the Patrin upon Jethro Fawe;
nothing of the gloom filling his eyes as he left Ingolby's house. The
gracious, bountiful look of the patriarch, of the head of the clan, was
upon him.

The husband of one wife, the father of one child, yet the Ry of Rys had
still the overlooking, protective sense of one who had the care of great
numbers of people. His keen eyes foresaw more of the story the woman was
to tell presently than either of the women of his household. He had
seen many such women as this, and had inflexibly judged between them and
those who had wronged them.

"Where have you come from?" he asked, as the meal drew to a close.

"From Wind River and under Elk Mountain," the woman answered with a
look of relief. Her face was of those who no longer can bear the soul's
secrets.

There was silence while the breakfast things were cleared away, and the
window was thrown wide to the full morning sun. It broke through the
branches of pine and cedar and juniper; it made translucent the leaves
of the maples; it shimmered on Fleda's brown hair as she pulled a rose
from the bush at the window, and gave it to the forlorn creature in the
grey "linsey-woolsey" dress and the loose blue flannel jacket, whose
skin was coarsened by outdoor life, but who had something of real beauty
in the intense blue of her eyes. She had been a very comely figure in
her best days, for her waist was small, her bosom gently and firmly
rounded, and her hands were finer than those of most who live and work
much in the open air.

"You said there was something you wished to tell me," said Fleda, at
last.

The woman gazed slowly round at the three, as though with puzzled
appeal. There was the look of the Outlander in her face; of one who had
been exiled from familiar things and places. In manner she was like a
child. Her glance wandered over the faces of the two women, then her
eyes met those of the Ry, and stayed there.

"I am old and I have seen many sorrows," said Gabriel Druse, d