It was a girl--a gypsy, to be sure--but a girl, and Bessie had
no fear of her, even when she saw that it was the same girl the scamp
she was pursuing was to marry. Moreover, the girl seemed as surprised
and frightened at the sight of Bessie, crouching there? as Bessie
herself had been at the other's coming.
"Where is he; that wicked man you are to marry?" cried Bessie, fiercely,
springing to her feet, and advancing upon the trembling gypsy girl. "You
shall tell me, or I will--"
She seized the gypsy girls shoulders, and shook her, before she realized
that the girl, whose eyes were filled with tears, probably knew as
little as she herself. Then, repentant, she released her shoulders, but
repeated her question.
"You mean John, my man?" said the girl, a quiver in her tones. "I do
not know, he was not at the camp last night. I was afraid. I think he
does not love me any more."
Something about the way she spoke made Bessie pity her.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Lolla," said the gypsy.
"I believe you do not know, Lolla," said Bessie, kindly.
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