ne--of your son?"

"Of who else? of who else?" cried Mother Cockleshell, clapping her
skinny hand and paddling on the floor with her feet. "Says Ishmael to
me, 'Bebee,' says he, 'my romi is false and would run away with the
golden rye this very night as ever was.' And says I to him, 'It's not
so, son of my son, for your romi is as true as the stars and purer than
gold.' But says he, 'There's a letter,' he says, and shows it to me.
'Lies, son of my son,' says I, and calls on him to play the trustful
rom. But he pitches down the letter, and says he, 'I go this night to
stop them from paddling the hoof,' and says I to him, 'No! No!' says I.
'She's a true one.' But he goes, when all in the camp are sleeping
death-like, and I watches, and I follers, and I hides."

"Where did you hide?"

"Never mind, dearie. I hides securely, and sees him walking up and down
biting the lips of him and swinging his arms. Then I sees--for Oliver
was bright, and Oliver's the moon, lovey--the big Gentile woman come
round and hide in the bushes. Says I to myself, says I, 'And what's your
game?' I says, not knowing the same till she shoots and my child's child
falls dead as a hedgehog. Then she runs and I run, and all is over."

"Why didn't you denounce her, Gentilla?"

"And for why, my precious heart? Who would believe the old gypsy? Rather
would the Poknees say as I'd killed my dear one. No! no! Artful am I and
patient in abiding my time. But the hour strikes, as I said when I spoke
to your romi in Devonshire no less, and the foxy moll shall hang. You
see, my dear, I waited for some Gentile to speak what I could speak, to
say as what I saw was truth for sure. You speak, and now I can tell my
tale to the big policeman at Wanbury so that my son's son may sleep
quiet, knowing that the evil has come home to her as laid him low. But,
lovey, oh, lovey, and my precious one!" cried the old woman darting
forward to caress Lambert's hand in a fondling way, "tell me how you
know and what you learned. At the cottage you were, and maybe out in the
open watching the winder of her you loved."

"No," said Lambert sharply, "I was at the cottage certainly, but in bed
and asleep. I did not hear of the crime until I was in London. In this
way I found out the truth, Mother!" and he related rapidly all that had
been discovered, bringing the narrative right up to the confession of
Silver, which he detailed at length.

The old woman kept her sharp eyes on his exp