“Shadrach, Meschech and Abednego,” she stated briefly, “The Rommany Three. Count them!” and so saying, she fled, I perforce following.
Ensued wild scramble through dismal wood, where mournful wind stirred, trees dankly dripped, wet leaves brushed faces, rain-sodden underbrush clung about wearied limbs. Came we at last out upon a broad highway, between grassy banks, topped by hedgerows and trees, whose wide-flung rustling leafage cast a pleasant shade, while, high in air, a lark caroled, faint and sweet against the blue.
III
Then looked I again upon my companion so vivid with life, so boldly virginal, and, catching my breath, which had hitherto eluded me,
“Some runner!” I quoth. “Haven’t I met you somewhere before?”
“I dessay,” she lightly answered. “You see, George Borrow was my father and I played Isopel Berners to his Lavengro. You’ll meet a lot of those old troupers before you’re through this book. There’s the Tinker now, and old Mrs. Herne. She plays Azor in this piece. Oh! them was the days!” she sighed, “when we was playin’ in the legit, before we come down to this movie stuff.”
“Oh,” quoth I, “then I suppose I ought to teach you grammar. It seems to me——”
“Cut it out!” she responded wearily. “Don’t! Lavengro done that once and for all. You can’t improve on him.”
IV
After a space were we ware of a wayside inn, the yard whereof was a-throng with gigs, carts, currycombs and other vehicles. One was a handsome closed traveling carriage, with blood horses stamping impatient hoofs and tossing proud heads. Standing by it was a man, tall, slim, superlatively dark, clad in garments of quiet elegance. His handsome pale face was paler by contrast with locks of raven hue. When we drew anear, he espied Diana.