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Updated: June 17, 2025
The Romany tribes of all the nations did not know why their Ry had hidden himself in the New World; they did not know that the girl had for ever forsworn their race, and would never become head of all the Romanys, solving the problem of the rival dynasties by linking her life with that of Jethro Fawe. But Jethro Fawe had come to claim his own.
Ingolby thought of all these things, but in a spirit of understanding, as he went to his tryst with her at sunset on the day when Lebanon and Manitou were reconciled. He met her walking among the trees, very near the place where they had had their first long talk, months before, when Jethro Fawe was a prisoner in the Hut in the Woods.
The old man suddenly regained his composure, and authority spoke in his bearing and his words. "What have you to do with my daughter?" "She was married to me when I was seven years of age, as my Ry knows. I am the son of Lemuel Fawe Jethro Fawe is my name. For three thousand pounds it was so arranged. On his death-bed three thousand pounds did my father give to you for this betrothal.
You'd better have a drink now and go quietly home to bed. Try and understand that this is a British town, and we don't settle our affairs by jumping from a violin rhapsody to a knife or a gun." He jerked his head backwards towards the wall. "Those things are for ornament, not for use. Come, Fawe, have a drink and go home like a good citizen for one night only."
"The wife of Jethro Fawe wishes to speak with him," he bombastically cried aloud to the assembled people, and he prepared to follow Fleda. As Fleda entered the woman's tent a black-eyed girl, with tousled hair and a bold, sensual face, ran up to Jethro, and in an undertone of evil suggestion said to him: "To-night is yours, Jethro. You can make tomorrow sure." "You are wasting your time."
Was he to wear them? If so, he Jethro Fawe would watch and follow him wherever he went. Had these disguises to do with Fleda with his Romany lass? His pulses throbbed; he was in an overwrought mood. He was ready for any illusion, susceptible to any vagary of the imagination. He looked round the room. So this was the way the swaggering, masterful Gorgio lived?
As Fleda watched it she shuddered, but presently braced herself, because she knew that this ritual was meant to show what the end must be of those who, like herself, proved traitor to the traditions of race. It was at this point, when fifty knives flashed in the air, with vengeful exclamations, that Jethro Fawe appeared in the midst of the crowd.
The invocation that no patrins shall mark the road of a Romany is to make him an outcast, and for the Ry of Rys to utter the curse is sentence of death upon a Romany, for thenceforward every hand of his race is against him, free to do him harm. It was that which made Jethro Fawe shrink and cower for a moment. Fleda raised her hand suddenly in protest to Gabriel Druse.
"If I live long enough, I'll turn you, my mad wife, into my Romany queen and the blessing of my 'tan'." "Don't mistake what I mean," she urged. "I shall never be ruler of the Romanys. I shall never hear " "You'll hear the bosh played-fiddle, they call it in these heathen places at your second wedding with Jethro Fawe," he rejoined insolently, lighting his cigarette.
There's some stuff in him if it only has a chance." "I've done a good piece of business, Berry," he said cheerfully as he passed through the barber-shop. "Suh, if you say so," said the barber, and they left the shop together. Promptly at nine o'clock Jethro Fawe knocked at Ingolby's door, and was admitted by the mulatto man-servant Jim Beadle, who was to Ingolby like his right hand.
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