"I believe that I was stolen as a child;
indeed, they have owned as much. But what can I do? I am one of them.
What can a gypsy do? We are good for nothing but to sing and to steal."
"If I get free from this scrape," Harry said, "you may be sure that
shall not be ungrateful, and if you long to leave this life, I can
secure you a quiet home in England with my father."
The girl clasped her hands in delight.
"Oh, that would be too good!" she exclaimed. "Too good; but I fear it
can never be."
She put her fingers to her lips, as the door again opened. The old woman
entered, carrying some clothes.
"Here," she said; "they have gone out; put these on, Zita and I will go
out and see if the coast is clear."
Harry, smiling to himself at the singularity of his having twice to
disguise himself as a gypsy, rapidly changed his clothes. Presently the
old woman returned.
"Quick," she exclaimed; "I hear that the news of the riot in the
drinking-house has got about this morning, and it is known that an
Englishman, something like the one seen in the lanes, took Zita's part,
and there are suspicions that it was she who acted as his guide. They
have been roughly questioning us. I told her to go on to avoid
suspicion, while I ran back. You cannot stir out now, and I heard a talk
of searching our rooms. Come, then, we may find a room unoccupied below;
you must take refuge there for the present.
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