"I am dying," replied the man in a sombre tone, still looking at her. "Ah, soon I shall be in the earth with my sap--my only friend."
"You had better go to Hollyoaks and get some food.
"Hollyoaks?" he repeated, fixing his shining eyes on this--to him--very extraordinary Gentile lady. "Do you live there? Is your name Cass?"
"Yes; I am the daughter of Mr. Cass, of Hollyoaks."
"Duvel! and you come here!" he said, under his breath, and casting a glance at the cottage behind him.
"Why shouldn't I come here?" she asked, sharply. She fancied she saw an uneasy look on his face.
"Oh, nothing, my sister--nothing. You have an aunt--she is not Romany?"
"Mrs. Marshall? No. She knows nothing of the calo jib. Why do you ask?"
Job burst out laughing, and nodded. "I go to her house for food sometimes. She won't see me die for want of a crust. But you are her niece," there was a puzzled look in his eyes. "Can I help you?"
"No. I only came to look at the place. There was a murder committed here."