dently bent on entering.
That this irruption of the enemy gave a taci-turn to our riotry and
revelling will be believed. I tossed the brandy in the cup into the
fire; it flashed up, and with it a quick memory of the spilt and blazing
witch-brew in "Faust." I put the tourist-flask in my pocket, and in a
trice had changed my seat and assumed the air of a chance intruder. In
they came, two ladies--one decidedly pretty--and three gentlemen, all of
the higher class, as they indicated by their manner and language. They
were almost immediately followed by a Gipsy, the son of my hostess, who
had sent for him that he might see me.

He was a man of thirty, firmly set, and had a stern hard countenance, in
which shone two glittering black eyes, which were serpent-like even among
the Rommany. Nor have I ever seen among his people a face so expressive
of self-control allied to wary suspicion. He was neatly dressed, but in
a subdued Gipsy style, the principal indication being that of a pair of
"cords," which, however, any gentleman might have worn--in the field. His
English was excellent--in fact, that of an educated man; his sum total
that of a very decided "character," and one who, if you wronged him,
might be a dangerous one.

We entered into conversation, and the Rommany rollicking seemed all at
once a vapoury thing of the dim past; it was the scene in a witch-revel
suddenly shifted to a drawing-room in May Fair. We were all, and all at
once, so polite and gentle, and so readily acquainted and
cosmo-polite--quite beyond the average English standard; and not the
least charming part of the whole performance was the skill with which the
minor parts were filled up by the Gipsies, who with exquisite tact
followed our lead, seeming to be at once hosts and guests. I have been
at many a play, but never saw anything better acted.

But under it all burnt a lurid though hidden flame; and there was a
delightful _diablerie_ of concealment kept up among the Rommany, which
was the more exquisite because I shared in it. Reader, do you remember
the scene in George Borrow's "Gipsies in Spain," in which the woman
blesses the child in Spanish, and mutters curses on it meanwhile in
Zincali? So it was that my dear old hostess blessed the sweet young
lady, and "prodigalled" compliments on her; but there was one instant
when her eye met mine, and a soft, quick-whispered, wicked Rommany
phrase, unheard by the ladies, came to my ear, and in th