[Footnote:  Gorgio, a man who is not a Gypsy.  Gorgie, a woman who is not a Gypsy.]

‘But it was Winnie Wynne, I s’pose?’ said the landlord, in a state now of great curiosity.

‘It was Winnie Wynne,’ replied the Gypsy, handing her companion her empty beer-pot, and pointing to the landlord as a sign that the man was to pass it on to him to be refilled.  ’Up I goes to her, and I says, “Why, sister, who’s bin a-meddlin’ with you?  I’ll tear the windpipe out o’ anybody wot’s been a-meddlin’ with you."’

When the girl used the word ‘sister’ a light broke in upon me.

‘Are you Sinfi Lovell?’ I cried.

’That jist my name, my rei; but as I said afore, I ain’t deaf.  Jist let Jim pass my beer across and don’t interrup’ me, please.’

‘Don’t rile her, sir,’ whispered the landlord to me; ’she’s got the real witch’s eye, and can do you a mischief in a twink, if she likes.  She’s a good sort, though, for all that.’

‘What are you two a-whisperin’ about me?’ said the girl in a menacing tone that seemed to alarm the landlord.

‘I was only tellin’ the gentleman not to rile you, because you was a fightin’ woman,’ said the man.

The Gypsy looked appeased and even gratified at the landlord’s explanation.

‘But what did Winnie Wynne do then, Sinfi?’ asked the landlord.

‘She turns round sharp,’ said the Gypsy; ’she looks at me as skeared as the eyes of a hotchiwitchi [Footnote] as knows he’s a-bein’ uncurled for the knife. “Father!” she cries, and away she bolts like a greyhound; and I know’d at oust as she wur under a cuss.  Now, you see, Mr. Blyth, that upset me, that did, for Winnie Wynne was the only one on ’em, Gorgio or Gorgie, ever I liked.  No offence, Mr. Blyth, it isn’t your fault you was born one; but,’ continued the girl, holding up the foaming tankard and admiring the froth as it dropped from the rim upon her slender brown hand on its way to the floor, ’Winnie Wynne was the only one on ’em, Gorgio or Gorgie, ever I liked, and that upset me, that did, to see that ’ere beautiful cretur a-grinnin’ and jabberin’ under a cuss.  The Romanies is gittin’ too fond by half o’ the Gorgios, and will soon be jist like mumply Gorgios themselves, speckable and silly; but Gorgio or Gorgie, she was the only one on ’em ever I liked, was Winnie Wynne; and when she turned round on me like that, with them kind eyes o’ hern (such kind eyes I never seed afore) lookin’ like that at me (and I know’d she was under a cuss)—­I tell you,’ she said, still addressing the beer, ‘that it’s made me fret ever since—­that’s what it’s done!’

[Footnote:  Hedgehog.]

About the truth of this last statement there could be no doubt, for her face was twitching violently in her efforts to keep down her emotion.

‘And did you follow her?’ said the landlord.

‘Not I; what was the good?’