where you may be guarded and defended from all the world.  A thought strikes me; and if it be as I conjecture, you have been lucky in meeting me above all men.  What I conjecture is, that being in love with Preciosa—­that beautiful young gipsy, to whom you addressed the verses—­you have come in search of her; for which I don’t think a bit the worse of you, but quite the reverse:  for gipsy though I am, experience has shown me how far the potent force of love reaches, and the transformations it makes those undergo whom it brings beneath its sway and jurisdiction.  If this be so, as I verily believe it is, the fair gitanilla is here.”

“Yes, she is here; I saw her last night,” said the stranger.  This was like a death-blow to Andrew; for it seemed at once to confirm all his suspicions.

“I saw her last night,” the young man repeated; “but I did not venture to tell her who I was, for it did not suit my purpose.”

“So, then,” said Andrew, “you are indeed the poet of whom I spoke.”

“I am:  I neither can nor will deny it.  Possibly it may be that where I thought myself lost I have come right to port, if, as you say, there is fidelity in the forests, and hospitality in the mountains.”

“That there is, beyond doubt,” said Andrew; “and among us gipsies the strictest secrecy in the world.  On that assurance, senor, you may unburden your breast to me:  you will find in mine no duplicity whatever.  The gitanilla is my relation, and entirely under my control.  If you desire her for a wife, myself and all other relations will be quite willing; and if for a mistress, we will not make any squeamish objections, provided you have money, for covetousness never departs from our ranchos.”

“I have money,” the youth replied; “in the bands of this frock, which I wear girt round my body, there are four hundred gold crowns.”

This was another mortal blow for Andrew, who assumed that the stranger could carry so large a sum about him for no other purpose than to purchase possession of the beloved object.  With a faltering tongue he replied, “That is a good lump of money; you have only to discover yourself, and go to work:  the girl is no fool, and will see what a good thing it will be for her to be yours.”

“O friend,” exclaimed the youth, “I would have you know that the power which has made me change my garb is not that of love, as you say, nor any longing for Preciosa; for Madrid has beauties who know how to steal hearts and subdue souls as well as the handsomest gitanas, and better; though I confess that the beauty of your kinswoman surpasses any I have ever seen.  The cause of my being in this dress, on foot, and bitten by dogs, is not love but my ill luck.”

Upon this explanation, Andrew’s downcast spirit began to rise again; for it was plain that the wind was in quite a different quarter from what he had supposed.  Eager to escape from this confusion, he renewed his assurances of secrecy, and the stranger proceeded thus:—­