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"I wish you to remain," said Fleda to Ingolby with resolution in her bearing as she placed herself beside the chair where the dead man sat. "What is it you want to say to me?" she asked Rhodo again. "Must a Romany bare his soul before a stranger?" replied Rhodo.
It was her father's secret agent, Rhodo, the Roumelian, now grizzled and gaunt, but with the same vitality which had been his in the days when she was a little child. Here and there in the world went Rhodo, the voice of the Ry of Rys to do his bidding, to say his say. No minister of a Czar was ever more dreaded or loved. His words were ever few, but his deeds had been many.
"What news?" Madame Bulteel's face lighted. "Good news," she exclaimed eagerly. "He will see he will see again?" Fleda asked in great agitation. "The Montreal doctor said that the chances were even," answered Madame Bulteel. "This man from the States says it is a sure thing." With a murmur Fleda sank into a chair, and a faintness came over her. "That's not like a Romany," remarked old Rhodo.
Let him succeed." The old man raised both hands, and made a gesture as though he would drive her from his sight. "My life has been wasted," he said. "I wish I were also in death beside him." He gazed at the dead man with the affection of a clansman for his chief. Fleda came up close to him. "Rhodo! Rhodo!" she said gently and sadly. "Think of him and all he was, and not of me.
"The Ry of Rys is dead, but his daughter must stand upon her feet, and in his place speak for him. Is it not well with him? He sleeps. Sleep is better than pain. Let his daughter speak." Slowly Fleda arose. Not so much what Rhodo had said as the meaning in his voice, aroused her to a situation which she must face. Rhodo had said that she must speak for her father. What did it mean?
"What is it you wish to say to me, Rhodo?" she asked. "What I have to say is for your ears only," was the low reply. "I will go," said Ingolby. "But is it a time for talk?" He made a motion towards the dead man. "There are things to be said which can only be said now, and things to be done which can only be done according to what is said now," grimly remarked Rhodo.
A few moments later he said to her: "It's fifteen years since you kissed me last. I thought you were ashamed of old Rhodo." She did not answer, but looked at him with eyes streaming, drawing back from him.
"I wish you to remain," said Fleda to Ingolby with resolution in her bearing as she placed herself beside the chair where the dead man sat. "What is it you want to say to me?" she asked Rhodo again. "Must a Romany bare his soul before a stranger?" replied Rhodo.
She made a gesture as though she would detain him, but she realized that the hour of her fate was at hand, and that the old life and the new were face to face, Rhodo standing for one and she for the other. When they were alone, Rhodo's eyes softened, and he came near to her. "You asked me what I wished to tell you," he said.
To Rhodo he added: "I am not a robber of the dead. That's high-faluting talk. What I have of his was given to me by him. She was for me if I could win her. He said so. This is a free country. I will wait outside," he added to Fleda.
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