“She insults you,” he replied, in the same tongue, but released the girl.

“Never mind; never mind.”  Agnes turned to Chaldea and reverted to English.  “Girl, you are playing a dangerous game.  I wrote no letter to the man you call Hearne, and who was my husband—­Sir Hubert Pine.”

Chaldea laughed contemptuously.  “Avali, that is true.  The letter was written by you to my precious rye here, and Hearne’s dukkerin brought it his way.”

“How did he get it?”

“Those who know, know,” retorted Chaldea indifferently.  “Hearne’s breath was out of him before I could ask.”

“Why do you say that I wrote the letter?”

“The tiny rye swore by his God that you did.”

“It is absolutely false!”

“Oh, my mother, there are liars about,” jeered the gypsy sceptically.  “Catch you blabbing your doings on the crook, my rani, Chore mandy—­”

“Speak English,” interrupted Agnes, who was quivering with rage.

“You can’t cheat me,” translated Chaldea sulkily.  “You write my rye, here, the letter swearing to run world-wide with him, and let it fall into your rom’s hands, so as to fetch him to the big house.  Then did you, my cunning gentleman,” she whirled round on the astounded Lambert viciously, “hide so quietly in the bushes to shoot.  Hai! it is so, and I love you for the boldness, my Gorgious one.”

“It is absolutely false,” cried Lambert, echoing Agnes.

“True! true! and twice times true.  May I go crazy, Meg, if it isn’t.  You wanted the raclan as your romi, and so plotted my brother’s death.  But your sweet one will go before the Poknees, and with irons on her wrists, and a rope round her—­”

“You she-devil!” shouted Lambert in a frenzy of rage, and forgetting in his anger the presence of Agnes.

“Words of honey under the moon,” mocked the girl, then suddenly became tender.  “Let her go, rye, let her go.  My love is all for you, and when we pad the hoof together, those who hate us shall take off the hat.”

Lambert sat glaring at her furiously, and Agnes glided between him and the girl, fearful lest he should spring up and insult her.  But she addressed her words to Chaldea.  “Why do you think I got Mr. Lambert to kill my husband?” she asked, wincing at having to put the question, but seeing that it was extremely necessary to learn all she could from the gypsy.

The other woman drew her shawl closely round her fine form and snapped her fingers contemptuously.  “It needs no chovihani to tell.  Hearne the Romany was poor, Pine the Gentile chinked gold in his pockets.  Says you to yourself, ‘He I love isn’t him with money.’  And says you, ’If I don’t get my true rom, the beauty of the world will clasp him to her breast.’  So you goes for to get Hearne out of the flesh, to wed the rye here on my brother’s rich possessions.  Avali,” she nodded vigorously.  “That is so, though ‘No’ you says to me, for wisdom.  Red money you have gained, my daring sister, for the blood of a Romany chal has changed the color.  But I’m no—­”