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Updated: May 11, 2025
Before long he persuaded the Druse chieftains to address a petition to England asking for British protection. British protection was granted, and for over thirty years Richard Wood, virtually single-handed, shaped the destiny of Syria.
In that hour the two men declared themselves to each other, and Gabriel Druse told Tekewani all that he had hidden from the people of the Sagalac, and was answered in kind. It seemed to them that they were as brothers who were one and who had parted in ages long gone; and having met were to part and disappear once more, beginning still another trail in an endless reincarnation.
Gabriel Druse would resent this insolence to the daughter of the Ry of Rys. Word would be passed as silently as the electric spark flies, and one day Jethro Fawe would be found dead, with no clue to his slayer, and maybe no sign of violence upon him; for while the Romany people had remedies as old as Buddha, they had poisons as old as Sekhet.
Still I felt I must tell you perhaps because you are rich and strong, and will stop him from doing more harm." "How do you know we are rich?" asked Druse in a rough tone. "It is what the world says," was the reply. "Is there harm in that? In any case it was right to tell you all; so that one who had herded with a woman like me should not be friends with you."
The old man stretched heavily to his feet, leaned both hands on the table, and looked at the woman with glowering eyes, while Fleda's heart seemed to stop beating. "Married!" growled Gabriel Druse, with a blur of passion in his voice. He knew that Felix Marchand had followed his daughter as though he were a single man. Fleda saw what was working in his mind.
"Yes, Druse," whispered Miss De Courcy, "I promise." And then the terrible form that had been Druse sat up in bed with a mighty effort, and turned its sightless eyes joyfully toward Miss De Courcy's tear-stained face. "It's morning! I can see you!" it said, and fell back into the faithful arms and upon the faithful breast.
Near to the boscage on a little hill overlooking the great river, Gabriel Druse had come upon Tekewani seated in the pine-dust, rocking to and fro, and chanting a low, sorrowful refrain, with eyes fixed on the setting sun. And the Ry of Rys understood, with the understanding which only those have who live close to the earth, and also near to the heavens of their own gods.
I wish I could remember my prayers. Ain't it strange, I've forgot them all? Couldn't you say one? Just a little one?" And Miss De Courcy, her face buried in her hands, said, "Lord, have mercy upon us," and said no more. "Thank you," said Druse, more feebly, and quite satisfied. "We won't forget each other, an' you'll promise to come by'm'by. Won't you? I'll be so pleased when you come!"
Fleda Druse would be a queen of queens, but there was that queenliness in her now which was not Romany something which was Gorgio, which was caste, which made a shivering distance between them. As he had spoken, she saw it all as he described it. Vaguely, cloudily, the scene passed before her.
He might have shouted for relief in the hope of attracting the attention of some passer-by, and so found release and brought confusion and perhaps punishment to Gabriel Druse; but that was not possible to him. First and last he was a Romany, good or bad; and it was his duty to obey his Ry of Rys, the only rule which the Romany acknowledged.
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