“Shall you not be glad, mother, to visit London again?” demanded the young woman.
“Yes—for ’tis the only city in the world where adventuresses like ourselves—beggars, I may say—are certain to succeed. Oh! you have no idea of what a pandemonium is the great metropolis of England!” exclaimed the harridan, with strange emphasis. “’Tis a furnace in which millions of passions, interests, and ideas are ever boiling—boiling madly and as if in rage: ’tis a scene of immense iniquity and of boundless luxury—of wondrous intrigues and ineffable enjoyments.”
“Oh! how I long to plunge headlong into that fine city!” cried Perdita. “It is a vortex that will suit my disposition well.”
“Aye—and play your cards as I shall prompt,” observed her mother; “and you will speedily be the mistress of all the pleasures which London can afford. But, oh! I am ready to drop with weariness—I am dying with hunger and thirst, Perdita: and not a penny have we to purchase a morsel of bread——”
“I see a strong light yonder—there, mother—in that bye-lane,” said the young woman. “Shall we repair in that direction—perhaps it may be a hospitable cottage——”
“No: ’tis a gipsy’s encampment—I can distinguish the cart and the tent,” interrupted the old wretch. “But the gipsy race are good and generous; and they will not refuse us a morsel of bread and a cup of water.”
The two wanderers accordingly proceeded towards the strong light which Perdita had first discovered, and which proved to be, as her mother had surmised, the fire of a gipsy encampment situate in a bye-lane. As they approached, they observed a female form crouching over the blazing faggots, in spite of the intense sultriness of the weather, and apparently watching with attention a huge cauldron that was suspended above the fire in the usual gipsy fashion. When Perdita and her mother drew nearer still, they obtained a more perfect view of that female, whose countenance was thrown out in strong relief by the lurid flame; and they now perceived that she was a very old woman, bent down with the weight of years, but having nothing in her appearance of that weird-like character which so generally marks gipsy women of advanced age. She seemed to be all alone in the encampment at the time;—and her attitude, which had at first struck the wanderers as being that of a person watching the culinary process, now assumed a more thoughtful and serious character.
“Good dame,” said Perdita, “we are sinking with fatigue and famishing through want; and we crave your hospitality.”
“Ah! a woman as old as myself doubtless?” exclaimed the gipsy-crone, surveying Perdita’s mother with attention. “Come—sit down—you are welcome—you are welcome! I am all by myself for the present: my people have gone to a short distance—on business of their own—but that is of no matter to you. Young woman,” she continued, addressing herself to Perdita, “you are strong and active: I was once so myself! Ascend into the cart—you will find wooden bowls and spoons—and help yourselves to the contents of the pot. There will be enough for my people when they come back.”
The old gipsy spoke in so strange—vague—and peculiar a manner that the wanderers were both impressed with the idea that she must be in her dotage; and the rapid look of intelligence which passed between mother and daughter, showed that they had simultaneously entertained the same idea. Perdita, however, hastened to obey the directions which she had received; and, returning with the utensils, she and her mother commenced a hearty meal upon the broth and soddened poultry and meat which the cauldron contained.