"I will take it," answered the gipsy, "because it may give me more control over my people; for although among our nation there are men whose minds you little dream of, yet these I have here are not, perhaps, of the best,--not that they are evil either; but wild, and headstrong, and rash--as I was myself, when I was young."
They had already turned in their walk, and were now re-approaching the fire, round which the gipsies were gathered. Their conversation had not been without its share of interest to either, and each had much matter for reflection: so that--as thought is not that which makes a man speak, but that which keeps him silent--they advanced without another word to the spot where the stranger's horse stood. It was a fine powerful animal, of great bone and blood; but it was standing like a lamb in the hands of a little boy, while the beautiful girl, whom we have mentioned as accosting the other travellers, now stood stroking his proud neck, and examining the accoutrements with a care that some people might have thought suspicious. As Pharold and his companion returned, however, she sprung away to the rest of her tribe with a step as light as the moonshine on the sea.
"She is very beautiful," said the stranger, whose eye had rested on her for a moment; "who is she, Pharold?"
"She is my wife!" replied the gipsy, abruptly.
His companion shook his head with a sigh, and putting his foot in the stirrup, mounted his horse, and rode away.
[CHAPTER III.]
While such events as have just been described were passing in the wood, the two travellers whom we first brought before the reader, and to whom we must now return, rode on; but begging leave to pass over all their farther journey, as it did not consist of more than half a mile, we may bring them safe to the gate of the very house, whose lights and shadows they had seen from the slope above the village.
By this time it was as dark as could well be desired. It was not exactly Egyptian darkness, for there was nothing in it that could be felt, but the sun was gone entirely; and the last fringe of his golden robe had swept the sky some time. The moon was not yet up, so that the stars had the sky all to themselves; but though they were shining as brightly as they did many a thousand years ago, when they were first sent glittering into the depths of space, they did very little to show the travellers their way.
Edward de Vaux, indeed, had taken it into his head to go to the back entrance of his aunt's house. But the truth is, he had worked himself up, as he came along, into a belief that there might be some fuss made upon his return, and had conjured up before his imagination everything that might or could possibly occur, in which there was the least smack of ridicule; although all the time he knew perfectly well that his companion was of too generous and feeling a disposition even to dream that anything was ridiculous which sprung from the heart. He well knew, also, that those he was about to meet were by education, and habit, and natural character, the last persons in the world to do or say anything that was not graceful and bienséant. But still, as his imagination was not the most tractable imagination in the world, but roved hither and thither, whether he liked it or not, on all occasions, he could not get the better of her in the present instance; and therefore, in order that everything in the way of reception might pass as quietly and as quickly as possible, he rode up to the gate of the back court, and after feeling about for the bell for some time, he rang for admittance.
After a little delay, a coachman with a powdered wig, and three rows of curls round his ears, opened the gates with a lantern in his hand, and demanded what the strangers wanted; but without other reply, De Vaux rode into the yard with his companion, and springing to the ground, exposed his well-known face to the glare of the lantern and the wondering eyes of old Joseph, the immemorial coachman, who, bursting forth into a loud exclamation, called vehemently to the groom, and the helper, and the stable-boy. "The oaken doors returned a brazen sound!" and not only those that the old curly-wigged official of the hammercloth called to his aid appeared with ready promptitude, but eke a footman emerged from the passage of the servants'-hall, and two or three pippin-faced housemaids were seen "peeping from forth the alleys green" beyond.