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Updated: June 17, 2025
No one knows, he least of all. He will not see the end, because the road is dark. I don't think it will be soon," he added, because he saw how haggard her face had grown. "No, I don't think it will be soon. He is a Fawe, at the head of all the Fawes; so perhaps there will be time for him to think, and no doubt it will not be soon." "Perhaps it will not be at all.
"You were sealed to me, as my Ry here knows, and as you will remember, if you fix your mind upon it. It was beyond the city of Starzke three leagues, under the brown scarp of the Dragbad Hills. It was in the morning when the sun was by a quarter of its course. It happened before my father's tent, the tent of Lemuel Fawe. There you and I were sealed before our Romany folk.
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. To Fleda's appeal he turned a stony face. There was none of that rage in his words which had marked the scene when Jethro Fawe first came to claim what he could not have. There was something in him now more deadly and inevitable.
"I have a lot of things I could do without." "Could you do without the Sarasate?" "Long enough to hear you play it, Mr. what is your name, may I ask?" "My name is Jethro Fawe." "Well, Jethro Fawe, my Romany 'chal', you shall show me what a violin can do." "You know the Romany lingo?" Jethro asked, as Ingolby went over to the violin-case. "A little just a little." "When did you learn it?"
"She was made mine according to Romany law by the River Starzke seventeen years ago. I was the son of Lemuel Fawe, rightful King of all the Romanys.
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.
"If it be that Jethro Fawe is still alive he is free from the Sentence of the Patrin, and he will become the Ry of Rys," said the old man with sudden passion. "It may be so. I hope it is so. He is of the blood, and I pray that Jethro has escaped the sentence which my father passed," answered Fleda. "By the River Starzke it was ordained that he should succeed my father, marrying me.
She had set out to do a thing she dreaded, and it was easier now than it would have been if they had not met. She had been on her way to the Hut in the Wood, and now the dread of the visit to Jethro Fawe had diminished.
More than once Ingolby's heart throbbed heavily against his breast as he felt the passion of her nature, its extraordinary truthfulness, making it clear to him by indirect phrases that even Jethro Fawe, whom she despised, still had a hateful fascination for her.
"Say," he said decisively, "she'll ask for them finger-bowls she'll ask for 'em, and what'd I do if we hadn't got 'em." She did ask for them; and henceforth the West said of any woman who put on airs and wanted what she wasn't born to: "She's a finger-bowl lady." It was Jim who opened the door to Jethro Fawe, and his first glance was one of prejudice.
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