CHAPTER X.
THE END OF THE WEEK Gypsy threw down the gun, and threw up her hands with a curious quick motion, like one in suffocation, who was trying to find a voice; but she did not utter a sound.
There was an instant's awful stillness.

In that instant, it seemed to Gypsy as if she had lived a great many years; in that instant, even Sarah's frightened cries were frozen.
Then the bushes parted, and some one sprang through.

Gypsy knew the face all blackened and marred with powder--the face dearer to her than any on earth but her mother's.

So she had not killed him--thank God, thank God! "Gypsy, child!" called the dear, familiar voice; "what ails you?
You haven't hurt me, but why in the name of all danger on this earth did you touch----" But Tom stopped short; for Gypsy tottered up to him with such a white, weak look on her face, that he thought the rebound of the gun must have injured her, and caught her in his arms.
"You're not going to faint! Where are you hurt ?" But Gypsy was not hurt, and Gypsy never fainted.

She just put her arms about his neck and hid her face close upon his shoulder, and cried as if her heart would break.
It was a long time before she spoke,--only kissing him and clinging to him through her sobs,--then, at last,-- "Oh, Tom, I thought I had killed you--I thought--and I loved you so--oh, Tom!" Tom choked a little, and sat down on the ground, holding her in his lap.
"Why, my little Gypsy!" Just then footsteps came crashing through the underbrush, and Mr.Hallam ran hurriedly up.
"Oh, you've found them! Where were they?
What has happened to Gypsy ?" "Let me go," sobbed Gypsy; "I can't talk just now.