IVCAMPBELL STOOD STILL, not moving or speaking, his hard, dark face lined and dead, like old wood. From a great distance he heard Marah's smothered, furious curse, the quick catch of Stella's breath, the sullen breathing and stirring of the mob that was no longer sure what it wanted to do.
But all he could see was the pale, kind face of an old man smiling in the warm, blue night, and the dirty, sordid stones of Lhi.
A voice spoke, from beside the circle of armed men. Campbell heard it with some part of his brain. An old voice, dry and rustling, possessed of great dignity and great pain.
"My children," it said. "Have patience. Have faith that we, your leaders, have the good of Romany at heart."
Campbell looked with dead, dark eyes at the speaker, standing beside Tredrick. A small man in
