"The Gipsies—with another name—that's all, Meg," replied Skilligalee. "But I was telling you about the man that we call the Traveller. When his heart has been the least thing warmed with sluicing his bolt[99] and cocking his broseley, he has told us strange stories of foreign countries, so that even old Zingary, who has travelled a good deal, has turned up the whites of his eyes. But there is no doubt that the sulky stranger has seen much, and gone through much also. He talks of the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Horn, and Australia, and heaven only knows what distant places, almost as well as you and I should about the coal-hells in Staffordshire."
"And does he mean to kill the man that has offended him?" demanded the Rattlesnake.
"I'll warrant he does," was the answer; "for all that he possessed in the world, when we picked him up nearly frozen to death in a pit where he had crept for shelter,—all that he possessed besides his rags, was a long dagger, which he calls a poniard: it is as bright as silver, and so flexible that you can bend it double without breaking it. So determined is he to bury it some half dozen inches in his enemy's heart, that he wouldn't even sell it, it appears, when famishing for a morsel of bread."
"He seems a desperate-looking fellow," observed the Rattlesnake. "I never beard of so terrible a man—except one; and hell doesn't contain a greater demon than him. But I will tell you all about that another time: you must answer me my questions first."
"Oh! of course," exclaimed Skilligalee, with a merry laugh; "because you are the lady, and I am the gentleman. What else do you want to know?"
"Why, the king is going up to London?"
"He always does at this season of the year, to meet the chiefs of the different districts, and settle a good deal of business. But you will see all about it when once we get up into the Holy Land—that is, if you've made up your mind to go with us."
"I have," answered the Rattlesnake. "And now tell me all that has happened to you since we parted in that hurried manner—you know how."
"Well—I will," cried Skilligalee: "so listen attentively, as all story-tellers say."
Then, clearing his throat with a loud hem, he commenced his narrative in the following manner.