, supporting on their tops a huge transverse stone, and forming
a wonderful doorway. I knew now where I was, and, laying down my stick
and bundle, and taking off my hat, I advanced slowly, and cast myself--it
was folly, perhaps, but I could not help what I did--cast myself, with my
face on the dewy earth, in the middle of the portal of giants, beneath
the transverse stone. The spirit of Stonehenge was strong upon me!

* * * * *

I went to Belle's habitation, and informed her that Mr. and Mrs.
Petulengro had paid us a visit of ceremony, and were awaiting her at the
fire-place. 'Pray go and tell them that I am busy,' said Belle, who was
engaged with her needle. 'I do not feel disposed to take part in any
such nonsense.' 'I shall do no such thing,' said I; 'and I insist upon
your coming forthwith, and showing proper courtesy to your visitors. If
you do not, their feelings will be hurt, and you are aware that I cannot
bear that people's feelings should be outraged. Come this moment, or--'
'Or what?' said Belle, half smiling. 'I was about to say something in
Armenian,' said I. 'Well,' said Belle, laying down her work, 'I will
come.' 'Stay,' said I, 'your hair is hanging about your ears, and your
dress is in disorder; you had better stay a minute or two to prepare
yourself to appear before your visitors, who have come in their very best
attire.' 'No,' said Belle, 'I will make no alteration in my appearance;
you told me to come this moment, and you shall be obeyed.' So Belle and
I advanced towards our guests. As we drew nigh, Mr. Petulengro took off
his hat and made a profound obeisance to Belle, whilst Mrs. Petulengro
rose from the stool and made a profound courtesy. Belle, who had flung
her hair back over her shoulders, returned their salutations by bending
her head, and after slightly glancing at Mr. Petulengro, fixed her large
blue eyes full upon his wife. Both these females were very handsome--but
how unlike! Belle fair, with blue eyes and flaxen hair; Mrs. Petulengro
with olive complexion, eyes black, and hair dark--as dark as could be.
Belle, in demeanour calm and proud; the gypsy graceful, but full of
movement and agitation. And then how different were those two in
stature! The head of the Romany rawnie scarcely ascended to the breast
of Isopel Berners. I could see that Mrs. Petulengro gazed on Belle with
unmixed admiration; so did her husband. 'Well,' said the latter, 'one
thing I will say, which i