Towards evening we drew near to a large town or village.  “That is Merida,” said Antonio, “formerly, as the Busne say, a mighty city of the Corahai.  We shall stay here to-night, and perhaps for a day or two, for I have some business of Egypt to transact in this place.  Now, brother, step aside with the horse, and wait for me beneath yonder wall.  I must go before and see in what condition matters stand.”

I dismounted from the horse, and sat down on a stone beneath the ruined wall to which Antonio had motioned me; the sun went down, and the air was exceedingly keen; I drew close around me an old tattered gypsy cloak with which my companion had provided me, and being somewhat fatigued, fell into a doze which lasted for nearly an hour.

“Is your worship the London Caloro?” said a strange voice close beside me.

I started and beheld the face of a woman peering under my hat.  Notwithstanding the dusk, I could see that the features were hideously ugly and almost black; they belonged, in fact, to a gypsy crone, at least seventy years of age, leaning upon a staff.

“Is your worship the London Caloro?” repeated she.

“I am he whom you seek,” said I; “where is Antonio?”

“Curelando, curelando, baribustres curelos terela,” {1} said the crone:  “come with me, Caloro of my garlochin, come with me to my little ker, he will be there anon.”

I followed the crone, who led the way into the town, which was ruinous and seemingly half deserted; we went up the street, from which she turned into a narrow and dark lane, and presently opened the gate of a large dilapidated house; “Come in,” said she.

“And the gras?” I demanded.

“Bring the gras in too, my chabo, bring the gras in too; there is room for the gras in my little stable.”  We entered a large court, across which we proceeded till we came to a wide doorway.  “Go in, my child of Egypt,” said the hag; “go in, that is my little stable.”

“The place is as dark as pitch,” said I, “and may be a well for what I know; bring a light or I will not enter.”

“Give me the solabarri (bridle),” said the hag, “and I will lead your horse in, my chabo of Egypt, yes, and tether him to my little manger.”  She led the horse through the doorway, and I heard her busy in the darkness; presently the horse shook himself:  “Grasti terelamos,” said the hag, who now made her appearance with the bridle in her hand; “the horse has shaken himself, he is not harmed by his day’s journey; now let us go in, my Caloro, into my little room.”

We entered the house and found ourselves in a vast room, which would have been quite dark but for a faint glow which appeared at the farther end; it proceeded from a brasero, beside which were squatted two dusky figures.

“These are Callees,” said the hag; “one is my daughter and the other is her chabi; sit down, my London Caloro, and let us hear you speak.”