Ruffin himself amongst us presently, if Peter Bradley
grows gallant."

Leading their horses, the party took their way through the trees. A few
minutes' walking brought them in sight of the gipsy encampment, the spot
selected for which might be termed the Eden of the valley. It was a
small green plain, smooth as a well-shorn lawn, kept ever verdant--save
in the spots where the frequent fires had scorched its surface--by the
flowing stream that rushed past it, and surrounded by an amphitheatre of
wooded hills. Here might be seen the canvas tent with its patches of
varied coloring; the rude-fashioned hut of primitive construction; the
kettle slung

Between two poles, upon a stick transverse;

the tethered beasts of burden, the horses, asses, dogs, carts, caravans,
wains, blocks, and other movables and immovables belonging to the
wandering tribe. Glimmering through the trees, at the extremity of the
plain, appeared the ivy-mantled walls of Davenham Priory. Though much
had gone to decay, enough remained to recall the pristine state of this
once majestic pile, and the long, though broken line of Saxon arches,
that still marked the cloister wall; the piers that yet supported the
dormitory; the enormous horse-shoe arch that spanned the court; and,
above all, the great marigold, or circular window, which terminated the
chapel, and which, though now despoiled of its painted honors, retained,
like the skeleton leaf, its fibrous intricacies entire,--all eloquently
spoke of the glories of the past, while they awakened reverence and
admiration for the still enduring beauty of the present.

Towards these ruins Sybil conducted the party.

"Do you dwell therein?" asked Peter, pointing towards the priory.

"That is my dwelling," said Sybil.

"It is one I should covet more than a modern mansion," returned the
sexton.

"I love those old walls better than any house that was ever fashioned,"
replied Sybil.

As they entered the Prior's Close, as it was called, several swarthy
figures made their appearance from the tents. Many a greeting was
bestowed upon Luke, in the wild jargon of the tribe. At length an
uncouth dwarfish figure, with a shock head of black hair, hopped towards
them. He seemed to acknowledge Luke as his master.

"What ho! Grasshopper," said Luke, "take these horses, and see that they
lack neither dressing nor provender."

"And hark ye, Grasshopper," added Turpin; "I give you a special charge
about this mare.