"Do that," answered Manners, eagerly--"do that, and, beyond all doubt, Lord Dewry will forbear every other proceeding against you."
"Would he, indeed!" cried the gipsy, with a contemptuous laugh--"would he, indeed! Yet, perhaps, he might: but I will tell you, gentleman, if I did do so, I should not stand in need of his forbearance. But I will not do it; no, never! not if they were to cast a mountain upon me, it should not crush that secret from my heart till the right hour be come."
"Indeed!" said Manners; "that is a strange determination; but, however, you act and reason upon principles so different from those that influence ordinary men, that it is useless to inquire why you run great risks yourself, with motives apparently very slight."
"I do it because it is written in the book of that which I am to do," answered the gipsy. "But you say right; we do act and we do think upon different principles; and it is useless to inquire into mine, for you would not understand them; and yet I hold you to be a good man--better than most--braver--wiser than the great part of your fellows. Had you not been both brave and wise, you would never have learned from me what you are to know to-night--the fangs of tigers would not have torn it from me by any other means."
"I hope," answered Manners, with a smile, "that the secret will not be kept much longer unrevealed; for we have already walked several miles, and our fair friend, the moon, is going down to rest, as if she were as tired as I am."
"And who that sees her sink," said the gipsy, turning round as Manners spoke, and gazing for a moment on the setting orb--"and who that sees her sink shall dare to say that he will ever see that calm and splendid sight again? She goes, we know not whither, travelling alone upon her oft-trodden path--the path that she has walked in majesty through many a long century, looking unmoved upon the strifes and joys of nations who now have left us nothing but their ruins and their tombs. She saw my people live and rule in other lands.[[6]] She has seen them bow the necks of proud and haughty enemies beneath their chariot-wheels. She has seen them fall day by day, till they are but a scattered remnant, dashed like the foam of a broken wave over the lands around, while their temples and their palaces, their homes and their altars, are the dwellings of the wolf and the jackal, that howl beneath her light. She has seen them--mighty and nothing; and, perhaps, when our bones are whitening beneath her beams, in the long wide vacancy of after times, she may also see the despised nation reinstated in its glory, and forgetful of the rod of the oppressor; but you mind not such things--you look upon us merely as wandering outcasts of some unknown race."
"No, indeed," answered Manners; "you do me wrong. I have always looked upon your people with much interest and curiosity. There is a sort of mystery in their history and their fate that will not let any one, who thinks and feels, regard them with indifference."
"There is a mystery," answered the gipsy--"there is a mystery; but it matters not. This is not the time to solve it;" and--as every person who has ever conversed with one of the more intelligent and better informed of the gipsies must have remarked as their invariable custom when spoken to either upon their language or history--he suddenly turned the conversation to other things, content with the vague hints of brighter times and more extended power, which he had already given. Manners endeavoured more than once to bring him back to the subject, but the gipsy pertinaciously avoided any approach to it. Nor was his companion more successful in an endeavour to lead him to the subject of De Vaux, in regard to whom Pharold pointedly refused to answer any questions. "You will know very soon all that you can know about the matter," he replied; "and I do not choose to speak at all on subjects where I might speak too much."
Manners pressed the question no further, and followed in silence. They had some time before crossed the summit of the rise above Morley House, skirting along the woods, and had descended into a valley on the other side, which, though not so deep as that in which the principal events we have related took place, sunk sufficiently below the level of the neighbouring hills to render a considerable ascent on the other side necessary ere the travellers could be said to have passed the chain of high grounds which separated that county from the next. This eminence, also, they had surmounted, when, as Manners had observed, the moon might be seen sinking below the dark line of the distant horizon. The aspect of the country was here very different from that on the other side of the hills; and although the light of the setting orb was not sufficient to display distinctly the various objects in the landscape, yet the long lines of light and shade that varied the wide extent below their feet gave Manners the idea of a rich and softly-undulating country, spreading for many miles without any considerable eminence. From the spot where they then stood the road, which they had now gained, wound through some young plantations down towards the plain; but ere they had finished the descent the moon was lost below the horizon, and the eye could no longer trace any but the objects in its immediate vicinity. Manners remarked, however, that along the young plantings were neat trimmed hedges, and that clean shining white gates gave entrance into the fields which they skirted. A dry raised footpath, too, rendered walking easy; and ere long he passed one of those friendly milestones wherewith most civilized governments have condescended to solace the longings of the weary traveller, as he plods on, anxious to know his distance from the expected rest. Just at the same moment, too, a village clock, with its kindly bell, tolled the hour, sounding clear and calm upon the still night air; and Manners, though without any great object in doing so, paused to make out the inscription of one hundred and some miles from London, and to count twelve, struck distinctly on the bell of the clock.
"Will not this be a very late hour," he asked, turning to the gipsy, who had paused also--"will not this be a very late hour to visit my poor friend, especially if he be ill as you say in body and in mind?"