It was as though a man without race or country was banished
into desolate space. In a vague way he felt its full significance, and
the shadow of it fell on him.
"No, no, no," Fleda repeated hoarsely, with that new sense of
responsibility where Jethro was concerned.
Jethro's eyes were turned upon her now. In the starlit night, just
yielding to the dawn, she could faintly see his burning look, could feel,
as it were, his hands reach out to claim her; and she felt that while he
lived she was not wholly free. She realized that the hand of nomad,
disorderly barbarism was dragging her with a force which was inhuman, or,
maybe, superhuman.
Gabriel Druse could know nothing of the elements fighting in his
daughter's soul; he only knew that her interest in the Master Gorgio was
one he had never seen before, and that she abhorred the Romany who had
brought Ingolby low. He had shut his eyes to the man's unruliness and
his daughter's intervention to free him; but now he was without pity. He
had come from Ingolby's bedside, and had been told a thing which shook
his rugged nature to its centre--a thing sad as death itself, which he
must tell his daughter.
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