“I only remember number one,” said Belle, “and that because it is me.”
“I will repeat them again,” said I, “and pay great attention. Now, try again.”
“Me, jergo, earache.”
“I neither said jergo, nor earache. I said yergou and
yerek. Belle, I am afraid I shall have some difficulty with you as a scholar.”
Belle made no answer. Her eyes were turned in the direction of the winding path, which led from the bottom of the hollow where we were seated, to the plain above “Gorgio shunella,” [{125a}] she said, at length, in a low voice.
“Pure Rommany,” said I; “where?” I added, in a whisper.
“Dovey odoy,” [{125b}] said Belle, nodding with her head towards the path.
“I will soon see who it is,” said I; and starting up, I rushed towards the pathway, intending to lay violent hands on any one I might find lurking in its windings. Before, however, I had reached its commencement, a man, somewhat above the middle height, advanced from it into the dingle, in whom I recognised the man in black, whom I had seen in the public-house.