happy as a husband and a father than in America, engaged in tilling the ground? I fancied myself in America, engaged in tilling the ground, assisted by an enormous progeny. Well, why not marry, and go and till the ground in America? I was young, and youth was the time to marry in, and to labour in. I had the use of all my faculties; my eyes, it is true, were rather dull from early study, and from writing the Life of Joseph Sell; but I could see tolerably well with them, and they were not bleared. I felt my arms, and thighs, and teeth—they were strong and sound enough; so now was the time to labour, to marry, eat strong flesh, and beget strong children—the power of doing all this would pass away with youth, which was terribly transitory. I bethought me that a time would come when my eyes would be bleared, and, perhaps, sightless; my arms and thighs strengthless and sapless; when my teeth would shake in my jaws, even supposing they did not drop out. No going a wooing then—no labouring—no eating strong flesh, and begetting lusty children then; and I bethought me how, when all this should be, I should bewail the days of my youth as misspent, provided I had not in them founded for myself a home, and begotten strong children to take care of me in the days when I could not take care of myself; and thinking of these things, I became sadder and sadder, and stared vacantly upon the fire till my eyes closed in a doze.
I continued dozing over the fire, until rousing myself I perceived that the brands were nearly consumed, and I thought of retiring for the night. I arose, and was about to enter my tent, when a thought struck me. ‘Suppose,’ thought I, ‘that Isopel Berners should return in the midst of the night, how dark and dreary would the dingle appear without a fire! truly, I will keep up the fire, and I will do more; I have no board to spread for her, but I will fill the kettle, and heat it, so that, if she comes, I may be able to welcome her with a cup of tea, for I know she loves tea.’ Thereupon, I piled more wood upon the fire, and soon succeeded in producing a better blaze than before; then, taking the kettle, I set out for the spring. On arriving at the mouth of the dingle, which fronted the east, I perceived that Charles’s wain was nearly opposite to it, high above in the heavens, by which I knew that the night was tolerably well advanced. The gypsy encampment lay before me; all was hushed
and still within it, and its inmates appeared to be locked in slumber; as I advanced, however, the dogs, which were fastened outside the tents, growled and barked; but presently recognising me, they were again silent, some of them wagging their tails. As I drew near a particular tent, I heard a female voice say—‘Some one is coming!’ and, as I was about to pass it, the cloth which formed the door was suddenly lifted up, and a black head, and part of a huge naked body protruded. It was the head and upper part of the giant Tawno, who, according to the fashion of gypsy men, lay next the door, wrapped in his blanket; the blanket, had, however, fallen off, and the starlight shone clear on his athletic tawny body, and was reflected from his large staring eyes.
‘It is only I, Tawno,’ said I, ‘going to fill the kettle, as it is possible that Miss Berners may arrive this night.’ ‘Kos-ko,’ [89] drawled out Tawno, and replaced the curtain. ‘Good, do you call it?’ said the sharp voice of his wife; ‘there is no good in the matter; if that young chap were not living with the rawnee in the illegal and uncertificated line, he would not be getting up in the middle of the night to fill her kettles.’ Passing on, I proceeded to the spring, where I filled the kettle, and then returned to the dingle.
Placing the kettle upon the fire, I watched it till it began to boil; then removing it from the top of the brands, I placed it close beside the fire, and leaving it simmering, I retired to my tent, where, having taken off my shoes, and a few of my garments, I lay down on my palliasse, and was not long in falling asleep. I believe I slept soundly for some time, thinking and dreaming of nothing; suddenly, however, my sleep became disturbed, and the subject of the patterans began to occupy my brain. I imagined that I saw Ursula tracing her husband, Launcelot Lovell, by means of his patterans; I imagined that she had considerable difficulty in doing so; that she was occasionally interrupted by parish beadles and constables, who asked her whither she was travelling, to whom she gave various answers. Presently methought that, as she was passing by a farmyard, two fierce and savage dogs flew at her; I was in great trouble, I remember, and wished to assist her, but could not, for though I seemed to see her, I was still at a distance; and now it appeared that she had escaped from the dogs, and
was proceeding with her cart along a gravelly path which traversed a wild moor; I could hear the wheels grating amidst sand and gravel. The next moment I was awake, and found myself silting up in my tent; there was a glimmer of light through the canvas caused by the fire. A feeling of dread came over me, which was perhaps natural on starting suddenly from one’s sleep in that wild lone place; I half imagined that someone was nigh the tent; the idea made me rather uncomfortable, and, to dissipate it, I lifted up the canvas of the door and peeped out, and, lo! I had an indistinct view of a tall figure standing by the tent. ‘Who is that?’ said I, whilst I felt my blood rush to my heart. ‘It is I,’ said the voice of Isopel Berners; ‘you little expected me, I dare say; well, sleep on, I do not wish to disturb you.’ ‘But I was expecting you,’ said I, recovering myself, ‘as you may see by the fire and the kettle. I will be with you in a moment.’
Putting on in haste the articles of dress which I had flung off, I came out of the tent, and addressing myself to Isopel, who was standing beside her cart, I said: ‘Just as I was about to retire to rest I thought it possible that you might come to-night, and got everything in readiness for you. Now, sit down by the fire whilst I lead the donkey and cart to the place where you stay; I will unharness the animal, and presently come and join you.’ ‘I need not trouble you,’ said Isopel; ‘I will go myself and see after my things.’ ‘We will go together,’ said I, ‘and then return and have some tea.’ Isopel made no objection, and in about half an hour we had arranged everything at her quarters. I then hastened and prepared tea. Presently Isopel rejoined me, bringing her stool; she had divested herself of her bonnet, and her hair fell over her shoulders; she sat down, and I poured out the beverage, handing her a cup. ‘Have you made a long journey to-night?’ said I. ‘A very long one,’ replied Belle, ‘I have come nearly twenty miles since six o’clock.’ ‘I believe I heard you coming in my sleep,’ said I; ‘did the dogs above bark at you?’ ‘Yes,’ said Isopel, ‘very violently; did you think of me in your sleep?’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘I was thinking of Ursula and something she had told me.’ ‘When and where was that?’ said Isopel. ‘Yesterday evening,’ said I, ‘beneath the dingle hedge.’ ‘Then you were talking with her beneath the hedge?’ ‘I was,’ said I, ‘but only upon gypsy matters. Do
you know, Belle, that she has just been married to Sylvester, so you need not think that she and I—.’ ‘She and you are quite at liberty to sit where you please,’ said Isopel. ‘However, young man,’ she continued, dropping her tone, which she had slightly raised, ‘I believe what you said, that you were merely talking about gypsy matters, and also what you were going to say, if it was, as I suppose, that she and you had no particular acquaintance.’ Isopel was now silent for some time. ‘What are you thinking of?’ said I. ‘I was thinking,’ said Belle, ‘how exceedingly kind it was of you to get everything in readiness for me, though you did not know that I should come.’ ‘I had a presentiment that you would come,’ said I; ‘but you forget that I have prepared the kettle for you before, though it was true I was then certain that you would come.’ ‘I had not forgotten your doing so, young man,’ said Belle; ‘but I was beginning to think that you were utterly selfish, caring for nothing but the gratification of your own strange whims.’ ‘I am very fond of having my own way,’ said I, ‘but utterly selfish I am not, as I dare say I shall frequently prove to you. You will often find the kettle boiling when you come home.’ ‘Not heated by you,’ said Isopel with a sigh. ‘By whom else?’ said I; ‘surely you are not thinking of driving me away?’ ‘You have as much right here as myself,’ said Isopel, ‘as I have told you before; but I must be going myself.’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘we can go together; to tell you the truth, I am rather tired of this place.’ ‘Our paths must be separate,’ said Belle. ‘Separate,’ said I, ‘what do you mean? I shan’t let you go alone, I shall go with you; and you know the road is as free to me as to you; besides, you can’t think of parting company with me, considering how much you would lose by doing so; remember that you scarcely know anything of the Armenian language; now, to learn Armenian from me would take you twenty years.’
Belle faintly smiled. ‘Come,’ said I, ‘take another cup of tea.’ Belle took another cup of tea, and yet another; we had some indifferent conversation, after which I arose and gave her donkey a considerable feed of corn. Belle thanked me, shook me by the hand, and then went to her own tabernacle, and I returned to mine.