Towards the evening the two lads arrived at the gypsies' camp. Along the dreary roadside several tall wooden crosses had been erected, tall and gaunt, with curious shapes, decorated with archaic saints in crudest colours. These weird crosses stood in a line like silent spectres, some bending sideways, as if tired of their vigil. It was here that old Zorka had told Eric he would find their halting-place. The fires had already been lit, the dark men and women sat about in groups. The tents stood out, dismal shadows, against the Western Bar. Eric holding Radu by the hand led him to where Zorka was cooking her evening meal in a blackened pot. Radu's flock had followed pitter-patter in their wake, hardly discernible in the dusk, their way-stained wool the colour of the ground they trod. When she saw her favourite the old seer ran forward and clasped him to her breast, anxiously scanning his haggard face, but saying never a word for fear of awakening his surging grief. "Mother Zorka," he said, "here is a friend who has come to look upon her face!" Zorka went to her tent, brought out the wonderful picture, and put it into the peasant's hands. He stared at it in enraptured silence. Then very slowly he laid it on the ground and knelt before it, making the sign of the cross over his brow, the tears flowing down his cheeks. Zorka brought the boys food in a dish, urging her dear one to eat, but Eric shook his head. "Mother Zorka, willst thou tend him and give him a bed? for he was good to me when I was in sore distress." Then taking the picture he went off alone in the darkness of the night. The wind howled, and the rain came down in heavier showers, beating upon the miserable tents. Zorka sat with the young shepherd in the shelter of her dwelling, looking out upon the darkness into which the lonely mourner had disappeared. "Was she an angel?" asked Radu, who had finished his meal, and whose face was still wet with tears. "I think she was," said Zorka, nodding her head. "Tell me," he continued, "why did she die?" "Why did she die?" repeated the tired old woman. "Because it is given to some never to wake from their dream of bliss, and those it is said are loved of the gods." "Why was he left alone? Do the gods not love him?" Zorka sighed: "Because some must learn to the bitter end to overcome all they reach; must learn to leave behind them both joy and pain; to rise above all their desires, and hopes, and fears, till their souls are as pure and bright as an archangel's sword; and those are the chosen of God." "But was she happy?" queried Radu, for the second time. "Yes," answered Zorka, with a solemn voice. "Yes, she was happy. She died of joy." XXVIII A star has ceased to shine in my lonely skies, Sometimes I dream I see it shining in my heart. FIONA MACLEOD. Zorka could not bear to part from Eric of the golden locks, and begged him to remain at her side.