After a long ride through the country, skirting the edge of the forest
in which the highwayman had lurked, and where the smoke from the
Gypsies' camp fire could be seen curling up in the distance, the two
automobiles took to the river road.
Ruth was steering her own car with Alfred beside her; behind them on the
small seat sat José and Mollie, and on the back seat were Bab and
Stephen. As they skimmed over the bridge, which had been repaired by the
major's men, Mollie said to José:
"Was the bridge all right, Mr. Martinez, when you came over it the other
day?"
The Spaniard flushed and his eye caught Bab's, who was gazing at him
curiously.
"Yes, no--or rather, I do not know," he stammered. "I did not come by
the bridge but through the forest."
"But how did you find the way?" asked Mollie, wondering a little at his
embarrassment.
"I asked it," he replied, "of a Gypsy."
"Oh, really?" cried Mollie. "And did she tell you?"
"It was not a woman," went on José. "It was a man."
"And did he know the way? Because they told us they did not, perhaps
because they didn't want to be disturbed so late in the evening."
"Perhaps," said José, and changed the subject by asking Stephen whose
was the large estate they were now approaching. It was that of a famous
millionaire, and their attention was for the moment distracted. José
seemed to breath a sigh of relief and engaged Mollie in conversation for
the rest of the ride, telling her about his own country, the bull fights
and carnivals and a hundred other things of interest until the little
girl had quite forgotten his confusion at the mention of the damaged
bridge.
On the way back the automobiles turned into the wooded road, but before
they reached the Gypsy camp they turned again into another road pointed
out by Martin in the first car. The road led directly through the forest
to the haunted pool, where the automobiles drew up. The pool, in the
late afternoon sunlight, was more enchanting than ever.
"This is a famous spot in the neighborhood," observed the major. "When I
was a boy it was the scene of many a picnic and frolic. People in these
parts were more neighborly in those days. The girls and boys used to
meet and ride in wagons or on horseback over here. We ate our luncheons
on this mossy bank; then strolled about in couples until dark and drove
home by moonlight."
"The Gypsy girl told us it was really haunted, Major," said Ruth. "She
even said she had seen the ghost."
"Indeed," replied the major, looking up a little startled, "and what
sort of ghost was it?"
"Just a figure sitting here on the bank," answered Ruth.
"Oh!" he exclaimed in a tone of evident relief.
"Why, Major," cried Miss Sallie, "one would think you believed in
ghosts."
"And so I do, Sallie, my dear," declared the gentle old major, "but only
in the ghosts of my lost youth, which seem to appear to me to-day in the
forms of all these delightful young people. What about tea, Miss Ruth
Stuart?" he demanded, turning to Ruth.
The chauffeur brought out the elaborate tea basket which had served them
so well at the Gypsy camp and Ruth and Barbara proceeded to make the tea
while the other girls unpacked boxes of delicious sandwiches and tea
cakes.
"This is a very beautiful spot," observed José. "If it were perpetual
summer I could live and die on this mossy bank and never tire of it!"
Walking a little apart from the others he stretched himself out at full
length on the ground, staring up into the branches overhead.
Then the other boys, who had been strolling about under the trees,
returned, but they were not alone. They had espied Zerlina in the depths
of the woods, with her guitar slung over her shoulder, and persuaded her
to go back with them to the pool.
"You see we've brought a wandering minstrel with us," cried Jimmie. "She
has promised to sing us a song of the Romany Rye, haven't you, Zerlina?"
The girls greeted Zerlina cordially. She was presented to the major, but
José, as she approached, had turned over on his side and flung his arm
over his head, as if he were asleep.
"Leave him alone. He's dreaming," said Jimmie. "Give Zerlina some tea
and cake, and then we'll have a song."
Zerlina ate the cake greedily and drank her tea in silence. She examined
the fresh summer dresses of "The Automobile Girls," and a look of envy
came into her eyes as she cast them down on her cotton skirt full of
tatters from the briars and faded from red into a soft old pink shade.
But she was very pretty, even in her ragged dress, which was turned in
at the collar showing her full, rounded throat and shapely neck. She was
lithe and graceful, and as she thrummed on the guitar with her slender,
brown fingers her ragged dress and rough shoes faded into
insignificance. The group of people sitting on the bank saw only a
beautiful, dark-haired girl with a glowing face and eyes that shone with
a smouldering fire. After a few preliminary chords she began to sing in
a rich contralto voice. The song again was in the Romany tongue. It
seemed to convey to the listeners a note of sadness and loneliness.
The kind old major was much impressed by the performance.
"Zerlina," he said, "you have a very beautiful voice, much too beautiful
to be wasted. You must ask your grandmother to bring you over to Ten
Eyck Hall. I should like to hear you sing again."
"Zerlina will be a great opera singer, one of these days," predicted
Jimmie. "She will be singing Carmen, yet, at the Manhattan Opera House.
How would you like that, Zerlina?"
The Gypsy girl made no reply. Her eyes were fastened on José, who still
lay as if asleep, his back turned to the circle.
"She can dance, too," cried Ruth. "She told me she could. This would be
a pretty place to dance, Zerlina, where the fairies dance by moonlight."
"I have no music," objected Zerlina.
"Oh, I can make the music all right," said the irrepressible Jimmie,
seizing the guitar and tuning it up. Then he began to whistle. The tone
was clear and flute-like and the tune the same Spanish dance he had
played for José. Zerlina pricked up her ears when she heard the music
and the rhythm of the guitar. It is said that no Gypsy can ever resist
the sound of music. Now the body of the girl began swaying to the beat
of the accompaniment. Presently she began to dance, a real Spanish dance
full of gestures and movement. They half guessed the story woven in, a
lover repelled and called back, coquetted with and threatened;
threatened with a knife which she drew from the blouse of her dress and
then restored to its hiding place; for the dance ended quickly without
disaster, imaginary or otherwise. Miss Sallie had given a little cry at
sight of another murderous weapon. But the knife! Had no one seen it, no
one recognized the chased silver handle and the slightly curved blade?
Bab sat as if rooted to the spot, waiting for somebody to speak, to cry
out that the knife was the same that had whizzed past José's head the
other night. After all, nobody had really seen it but herself. She had
learned by a former experience to keep her own counsel, and she decided
to wait, and not to tell until matters took a more definite turn.
Was it possible this beautiful Gypsy girl could be a murderess, or one
at heart? But, on the other hand, would she have dared to display the
mysterious dagger in the presence of the same company? Bab was puzzled
and worried. Was Zerlina a robber also, or was José, after all, the
robber? Perhaps there was some connection between them. There must be,
since they had exchanged knives on several occasions.
Her reflections were interrupted by a general movement toward the
automobiles. Zerlina was evidently pleased at the praises she had
received, for her cheeks were flushed with pride.
"Won't you let us see your dagger, Zerlina?" asked Bab.
"Oh, yes, do!" begged Mollie. "It will be the third dagger we have seen
this week; but this is the first chance we have had to take a good look
at any of them."
Zerlina looked at them darkly. Her lips drew themselves together in a
stubborn line.
"I cannot, now," she said. "Perhaps, another time. Good-bye." She
slipped off into the woods as quietly as one of the spirits which were
said to haunt the place.
"Gypsies are so tiresome," exclaimed Miss Sallie. "Why shouldn't she
show her dagger, I'd like to know? And who cares whether she does or
not, anyhow?"
"If you had ever read any books on Gypsies, Sallie," replied the major,
"you would know that their lives are full of things they must keep
secret if they want to keep out of jail. However, these Gypsies seem
peaceable enough," he added, his kindly spirit never liking to condemn
anything until it was necessary. "But what a beautiful girl she is!" he
continued. "If she were properly dressed she would be as noble and
elegant looking as"--he paused for a comparison--"as our own young
ladies here. I wonder if her grandmother would ever consent to her being
educated and taught singing?"
"Now, Major," cried the impetuous Ruth, "keep on your own preserves! I
asked her first, and I'm just dying to do it. I know papa would let me,
and wouldn't it be a beautiful thing to launch a great singer upon the
public?"
"It certainly would, my dear," replied the major, "and I promise not to
meddle, if you had first choice."
"Why, where's Mr. Martinez?" asked Mollie, as they climbed into the
automobiles and she missed her companion of the ride over.
One of the boys gave a shrill whistle and the others began calling and
shouting. Presently the answer came from up the stream. "I'm coming," he
called and José appeared. "I was only taking a little stroll."
"Why did you wish to miss the Gypsy song and dance?" demanded Mollie.
"It was charming."
"Pardon, Mademoiselle," he replied, stiffly, "but I do not care to hear
the songs of my country, or to see its dances in a foreign land."
Mollie was a little piqued by José's short answer, but she forgave him
when he said sadly:
"Did you ever know, Madamoiselle, what it is to be homesick?"
"But I thought you said you liked America?" she persisted.
"So I do," he replied; "nevertheless, there are times when I feel very
lonely. You will forgive me, will you not. Was I rude?"
In the meantime Stephen said to Barbara:
"Bab, are you a good walker? How would you like to take a short cut
through the woods to-morrow morning, and visit the hermit who lives on
the other side? We can't ride or drive very well, because it is too far
by the road, but it is only about five miles when we walk. I haven't
been there for several years, but I know the way well. I suppose the
hermit is still alive. At least, he was all right last summer, so John
the butler told me. Anybody else who wishes may go along, but nobody
shall come who will lag behind and complain of the distance."
"I am good for a ten mile walk," replied Barbara. "I have done it many a
time at home."
"The woods grow more and more interesting the deeper you go into them,"
continued Stephen. "There are places where the sun never comes through,
and the whole way is cool and shaded. It is full of people, too. You
would be surprised to find how many people make a living in a forest.
They are perfectly harmless, of course, or else I wouldn't be taking you
among them. Besides the Gypsies, there are woodcutters, old men and
women who gather herbs, and a few lonely people who live in cabins on
the edge of the forest and have little gardens. Uncle has always helped
them, in the winter, without asking who they were or why they were
there. Then there's the hermit. He is the most interesting of the lot.
He is as old as the hills and he has a secret that he would never tell,
the secret of who he is and why he has lived alone for some forty
years."
"How interesting!" exclaimed Bab. "I hope Miss Sallie won't object."
"We shall have to get the major on our side," replied Stephen, "and
perhaps win her over, too."
"Oh, she is not really so strict," replied Bab, "but she feels the
responsibility of looking after other peoples' children, she says."
"Here we are," said Stephen, as the cars stopped at Ten Eyck Hall.