"You are talking the language of the Carpathians, not of London," he said, with a new note of determination in his tone. "I will answer you in my English way. I have asked Lady Evelyn to marry me, and she will do so before the year is out. That is final. For the rest, I remind you again that you are not in Bukharest."
He rose, laughing, and offered his hand.
"Good-night," he said. "They will be anxious about me at the Castle."
It was the gypsy's turn to smile.
"I have dealt fairly with you," he said; "for that which is now to come, do not blame me when it comes."
"Too late is often never," replied Gavin lightly; and with that he left him.
The gypsy girl, Djala, had ceased to sing as he quitted the tent and the rest of the encampment was in darkness. But as he crossed the home park, a burly figure upon a black horse loomed up suddenly from the shadows and there was still moonlight enough for him to recognize the Earl.
"He is going to his gypsy friends," Gavin said to himself. "Then he knows that this brigand's son has spoken to me—ah, I wonder!"