And, turning, they saw John, the gypsy, leering at them. His clothes
were torn, and he was hot and dirty, so that it was plain that he had
had a long run, and a narrow escape from capture. But at the sight of
them he smiled, evilly and triumphantly, as if that repaid him amply for
any hardships he had undergone.

"Don't you dare touch us!" said Bessie, shrilly.

She realized even as she said it, that he was not likely to pay any
attention to her, but the sight of his grinning face, when she had been
so sure that their troubles were over at last, was too much for her.

She sank down on a log beside Dolly, and hid her face in her hands,
beginning to cry. Most men, no matter how bad, would have been moved to
pity by the sight of her sufferings. But John was not.

"Don't cry," he said, with mock sympathy. "I am not going to treat you
badly. You shall stay in the woods with me. I have a good hiding place,
a place where your friends will never find you until I am ready. You are
tired. So am I. We will rest here. It is quite safe. A party of your
friends passed this way five minutes ago. They will not come again--not
soon. I was within a few feet of them, but they did not see me."

Bessie groaned at the news. Had they only reached the place five minutes
earlier, then, they would have been safe. She was struck by an idea,
however, and lifted her voice in a shout for aid. In a moment the
gypsy's hand covered her mouth and he was snarling in her ear.

"None of that," he said, grittingly, "or I will find a way to make you
keep still. You must do as I tell you now, or it will be the worse for