'Well, I didn't be seeing his face, but I shouldn't wonder.'
Up the lane Mr Prothero went for a good half mile, and at last reached a gipsy encampment, where there were plenty of dark men, and sallow women, but not Owen and Gladys.
A shrewd old gipsy, seeing him evidently on the search for some one, assured him before he had asked any questions, that she had seen those whom he was looking for.
'Where?' asked the farmer.
'Cross my hand with a silver coin, and I'll tell ye,' she said.
He gave her a shilling.
'Young couple, my lord?' asked the woman.
Mr Prothero nodded assent.
'Dark and fair, yer honour?'
Another nod.