breaking by a deft stroke of his own oar or by some other similar
movement. He was a waterman and knew the ways of the water as well as
Marcu himself knew the murky roads of the marshes. The gipsy could not
help but admire the powerful quick movements of the Tartar--yet--to be
forced into selling his daughter--that was another thing.

At daylight they were within sight of Mehmet's hut on the shore. The
storm had abated. Standing up on the bags of fodder Marcu saw the black
smoke that rose from his camp. His people must be waiting on the shore.
They were a dozen men. Mehmet was one alone. He will unload the goods
first; then, when his men will be near enough, he will tell Fanutza to
run towards them. Let Mehmet come to take her if he dare!

A violent jerk woke the gipsy girl from her sleep. She looked at the two
men but said nothing. When the boat was moored, the whole tribe of
gipsies, who had already mourned their chief yet hoped against hope and
watched the length of the shore, surrounded the two men and the woman.
There was a noisy welcome. While some of the men helped unload the boat
a boy came running with a sleigh cart.

When all the bags were loaded on the sleigh Marcu threw the heavy purse
Mehmet had given him to the Tartar's feet and grabbed the arm of his
Fanutza.

"Here is your money, Mehmet. I take my daughter."

But before he knew what had happened, Fanutza shook off his grip and
picking up the purse she threw it at her father, saying:

"Take it. Give it to Stan that he should buy with the gold another