Mary was frightened almost out of her wits, for she believed every word the woman had said, and thought her quite capable of carrying out her threat. The one thing was to escape. If she could only do that, she would gladly keep silence about these dreadful people and their possible relation to her. "I promise," she said eagerly. "I never, never will. Not to anybody." The gypsies drew together near the fire and talked in low tones, using the language which Mary could not understand: after a minute the woman came back to her. "Give me yer handkercher," she said, and when Mary drew it tremblingly out of her pocket she tied it over the child's eyes and took hold of her hand. "Come along," she said, and Mary followed meekly. Although she could see nothing, she knew that they went down the stone steps and along the way she had come, and presently they were outside the house, for she felt the wind in her face and the long grass under her feet. Suddenly the woman stopped. "Now," she said, "remember; if you speak it will be the worse for you and for your friends, an' you'll be sorry for it all your life long. An' it's Seraminta as tells you so." "I won't," said Mary, "if you'll only let me go." "It goes agen me," said Seraminta, pretending to hesitate, "it naterally goes agen me. But I dessay you'll be better off at the parson's than yer could be with yer pore mother. Don't forgit the money. Now count fifty, an' then take off the handkercher." Mary began obediently; she had never been so submissive in her life. When she was half-way through the number she fancied she heard a rustle, and as she said the last one she pulled off the handkerchief and looked round. To her great relief she was quite alone, in the thickest part of the orchard; the woman had vanished, and it seemed for a moment as though it might have been some ugly dream. But no, it was too true. It had all really happened. "Ours you'll be for ever" echoed in Seraminta's harsh tones close to her ear. She shuddered, and began with feverish eagerness to push her way out through the thick growing boughs. Oh to be with the others again! After searching for some time she found a gate which led into the open fields. She could now see where she was. Oh joy! There in the distance was the well-known group of beech-trees and the blaze of a fire, round which were small figures dimly moving. Mary could have shouted for delight and relief; she set off running as hard as she could, never pausing till she arrived breathless in the midst of them. They all crowded round her, exclaiming and asking questions. "Here she is! Where _have_ you been? Fraulein and Rice are still looking for you. Did you lose yourself? Did you tumble down? Have you been into the forbidden rooms?" Fortunately for Mary it was impossible to answer all these questions, so she did not attempt to answer any of them.