The Return of the Gypsy by Philippa Carr Page B

was with him. He had also been in court, and I warmed towards him for making our cause his.
    As we saw them approaching I tried to judge from their expressions which way the verdict had gone, but I could not do so.
    I sprang to the door. My mother was beside me. “Wait here,” she said. “It won’t be long now.”
    They came into the room. I stared at my father. He was looking solemn and did not speak for a few seconds. I feared the worst and I cried out: “What? What?”
    “They’ve sentenced him.”
    “Oh no … no. It’s unfair. It was my fault that he was caught.”
    My father took me by the shoulders. He said: “It could have been worse. A man was killed. That cannot be forgotten. He won’t hang. We’ve stopped that. They’ve sentenced him to transportation … for seven years.”
    We were to leave Nottingham the following day. I felt deflated. I kept telling myself that at least they had not killed him. But to send him away for seven years … right to the other side of the world. Seven years … it was an eternity. I said to myself: I shall never see him again …
    He had made a deep impression on me and I should never forget him.
    The Barringtons persuaded us to dine with them on our last night. We did so—and the talk was all about the case.
    “He was lucky,” said Edward Barrington. “It’s a fairly light sentence for killing a man.”
    “In such circumstances …” I began hotly.
    “He did kill the man and it would be considered a light sentence. The girl made a good impression. She was so young and innocent… and quite beautiful.”
    “The fact that she was a virgin and we’d been smart enough to prove it knocked the wind out of their sails,” said my father with a chuckle.
    “The prosecution was out to prove that she was a loose woman. That was proved false and the evil reputation of Ralph Hassett could not be denied.”
    “Thanks for your help,” said my father.
    “You have been wonderful,” added my mother.
    “It is the least we could do,” said Mrs. Barrington.
    “Moreover,” put in her husband, “it is good to see justice done.”
    “He’ll be all right… that young man,” said my father. “He’s one of the survivors. That I saw right from the beginning.”
    “But to leave one’s country … to be banished …” I said. “When he should not have been banished at all, but applauded.”
    “The old squire was in a passion,” said Mr. Barrington. “He wanted a hanging.”
    “Wicked old thing,” said Mrs. Barrington.
    “Well, I think they should set him free,” I said.
    “My dear girl, people cannot go about killing for whatever reason,” said my father.
    My mother smiled at me. “We saved him from the rope. Let us rejoice in that.”
    “Do you think he knew?” I asked.
    “He saw me in court,” explained my father. “He heard my testimony and he knew I was the one who had produced the evidence of the dead man’s character and had proved the girl’s innocence. And he would say, Why should he do that? He would know it is because I have a daughter who tells me what should and should not be done.” He turned to the company. “She is a tyrant, this daughter of mine and she has made me her slave.”
    They were all gazing at us smiling, all except Clare Carson. In the turmoil of my thoughts there came the idea that she did not like me very much. I dismissed the thought at once. It was pointless and unimportant.
    “They are a wild pair,” said my mother, “my husband and my daughter. Jessica takes after her father and the odd thing is that I wouldn’t change either of them even if I could.”
    “Remind me to remind you of that sometime,” said my father.
    “I think,” put in Mrs. Barrington, “that we should drink to our meeting. It started in an unpleasant way and has turned out quite the reverse. I hope it will be the beginning of our friendship.”
    We all drank to that and I caught Edward Barrington’s eyes on me. He was smiling very warmly and I