Pharold's lip gradually curled into a look of bitter scorn; and, turning to one of his elder comrades, he whispered a few words to him, and a movement was instantly made on the part of the gipsies themselves to evacuate the ground. They performed their retreat, however, slowly and in good order; four of the party, directed by Pharold, bringing up the rear, and facing round upon the keepers whenever they approached, so as to render their flight secure. Harvey, with several of his companions, followed, somewhat encouraged by the sight of a retreating enemy; but two or three of the more charitable remained with Sir Roger Millington and the wounded keeper, though the latter was only slightly injured. At every two or three steps, also, as the others advanced in the pursuit, either weariness of the business altogether, or the better part of valour, caused one or two of the head park-keeper's comrades to fall off, and return to the spot where they had left the wounded men. Thus, by the time the gipsies reached the park wall, only three persons followed Harvey; and Pharold, somewhat irritated by his close pursuit, turned round upon him with not the most placable expression in the world. In truth, he had been crossed and pained; and, for a moment, the evil spirit, which has a secret tabernacle in the heart of every one, came forth, and thought that the dominion was all his own. But the gipsy drove back the fiend; and restraining his inclination to take vengeance on the keeper, he merely commanded him, sternly, not to advance another step till all his people had cleared the wall. Harvey only replied by imprecations, and Pharold calmly proceeded to station four of the gipsies, who had guns, upon the top of the wall, to protect the retreat of the others. Then, one by one, the gipsies passed over, their leader following the last, and the keeper, after giving way to one or two bursts of impotent wrath, turned on his heel, and joined his companions.
Pharold and his party proceeded in silence to their encampment, which was not far distant, when, to the surprise of those who had been engaged in the deer-stealing, they found everything prepared for instant departure. The horses were to their carts, the tents were packed up, and only one fire appeared lighted, beside which old Mother Gray and the other women, protected by only one man, were standing, watching with somewhat downcast countenances the solitary pot which was suspended above it. This group made instant way for Pharold and his comrades; and the former, advancing into the midst, folded his arms upon his breast, and bending his brows sternly upon the old woman, he said, after a bitter pause, "See, woman, what your instigations have produced,--strife, bloodshed, murder; and, very likely, ultimately, the death of this poor fool, who suffered himself to be led by your bad counsels--very likely his death upon the gallows!"
"A very good death, too," muttered the beldam, sullenly and low. "His father died the same."
"For you, Dickon," said Pharold, not noticing her speech--"for you, however ill you may have acted, your punishment is like to fall upon you soon; but you must hear my reproaches too. You have scorned authority throughout your life--you have forgotten the laws and habits of your fathers--you belong not to our people. Here we must all separate into small bodies, and take different ways, to avoid the consequences of your faults; but you shall go out from among us for ever, never to return. Answer me not, but hear! Had I not, by returning sooner than you expected, learned your errand, and hastened with the wiser and better of our people to stay your folly, and to bring you back--had I not come up in time, not, indeed, to prevent your crime, but to rescue you from the consequences, you would now have been lying, tied hand and foot, and waiting to be judged by those who hold us in hatred and contempt. From that you have been saved; but you must fly far, and conceal yourself well, to make such safety permanent. Go from us, then--go from us! and with whatever race of men you hereafter mingle--whether abjuring your people, as you have violated their rules, or whether seeking again some other tribe of the Romanicheel race--let the memory of all the evil that follows disobedience to those who have a right to command you, keep you from follies like those you have this night committed."
Pharold paused, and one of the other gipsies whispered a word in his ear. "True!" he said, "true! as he has to wander far and long, he must not go unprovided. We will all contribute to help him."
"No, no!" murmured Dickon, with his head sunk, and his eyes bent upon the ground--"no, no! I can do without." But the collection among the gipsies was made without giving any attention to his words. Each contributed something from the part he had received in the distribution of the preceding evening, and a considerable sum was thus collected. Pharold, perhaps, feeling that the boon from his hand would come poisoned, suffered one of his companions to give the money to the culprit, and then proceeded: "Go forth, Dickon! go forth! I warned you long ago; I counselled you while counsel might avail: you heeded not my warning--you rejected my counsel; the time is past; and I have only now to bid you go forth from among us for ever!"
With his head still bent, and his eyes upon the ground, Dickon took two or three steps away from the rest. He then turned, and raising his head, fixed his eyes upon Pharold, apparently struggling to speak. Words, however, failed him: the stern glance of their leader met his--calm, but reproachful; and suddenly turning a look full of fury at the old beldam who had misled him, the unhappy young man shook his hand at her, with a loud and bitter curse, and bounded away over the common.
"And now," said Pharold, turning to his companions, "let us separate quickly--to the east, and the west, and the north, and the south, in the same parties into which we had divided ourselves last night before the unfortunate accident made us change our plans. Let us travel rapidly and long, for be sure that we are followed by many and keen pursuers, who will spare neither gold nor speed to catch us. Let all of us that are alive meet this day three months at our old tryste on Cheviot; and we may then, perhaps, pursue our way in peace."
While he spoke, a light hand was laid upon his coat; and, as he ended, he found the beautiful eyes of Lena looking up in his face, with a glance of mingled apprehension and irresolution, as if she wished but feared to speak. "What is it, Lena?" he demanded. "You, of course, go with me and mine."
"But William!" said Lena, in a timid voice, "William!"