THE DAWN OF DAY--THE LAST FAREWELL--DEPARTURE FOR THE FAIR--THE FINE
HORSE--RETURN TO THE DINGLE--NO ISOPEL
It was about the dawn of day when I was awakened by the voice of Mr.
Petulengro shouting from the top of the dingle, and bidding me get up. I
arose instantly, and dressed myself for the expedition to the fair. On
leaving my tent, I was surprised to observe Belle, entirely dressed,
standing close to her own little encampment. 'Dear me,' said I, 'I
little expected to find you up so early. I suppose Jasper's call
awakened you, as it did me.' 'I merely lay down in my things,' said
Belle, 'and have not slept during the night.' 'And why did you not take
off your things and go to sleep?' said I. 'I did not undress,' said
Belle, 'because I wished to be in readiness to bid you farewell when you
departed; and as for sleeping I could not.' 'Well, God bless you!' said
I, taking Belle by the hand. Belle made no answer, and I observed that
her hand was very cold. 'What is the matter with you?' said I, looking
her in the face. Belle looked at me for a moment in the eyes, and then
cast down her own--her features were very pale. 'You are really unwell,'
said I, 'I had better not go to the fair, but stay here, and take care of
you.' 'No,' said Belle, 'pray go, I am not unwell.' 'Then go to your
tent,' said I, 'and do not endanger your health by standing abroad in the
raw morning air. God bless you, Belle, I shall be home to-night, by
which time I expect you will have made up your mind, if not, another
lesson in Armenian, however late the hour be.' I then wrung Belle's
hand, and ascended to the plain above.
I found the Romany party waiting for me, and everything in readiness for
departing. Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno were mounted on two old
horses. The rest, who intended to go to the fair, amongst whom were two
or three women, were on foot. On arriving at the extremity of the plain,
I looked towards the dingle. Isopel Berners stood at the mouth, the
beams of the early morning sun shone full on her noble face and figure.
I waved my hand towards her. She slowly lifted up her right arm. I
turned away, and never saw Isopel Berners again.
My companions and myself proceeded on our way. In about two hours we
reached the place where the fair was to be held. After breakfasting on
bread and cheese and ale behind a broken stone wall, we drove our animals
to the fair. The fair was a common cattle and horse fair: there was
little merriment going on, but there was no lack of business. By about
two o'clock in the afternoon, Mr. Petulengro and his people had disposed
of their animals at what they conceived very fair prices--they were all
in high spirits, and Jasper proposed to adjourn to a public-house. As we
were proceeding to one, a very fine horse, led by a jockey, made its
appearance on the ground. Mr. Petulengro stopped short, and looked at it
steadfastly: 'Fino covar dove odoy sas miro {101}--a fine thing were
that, if it were but mine!' he exclaimed. 'If you covet it,' said I,
'why do you not purchase it?' 'We low gyptians never buy animals of that
description; if we did we could never sell them, and most likely should
be had up as horse-stealers.' 'Then why did you say just now, "It were a
fine thing if it were but yours?"' said I. 'We gyptians always say so
when we see anything that we admire. An animal like that is not intended
for a little hare like me, but for some grand gentleman like yourself. I
say, brother, do you buy that horse!' 'How should I buy the horse, you
foolish person!' said I. 'Buy the horse, brother,' said Mr. Petulengro,
'if you have not the money I can lend it you; though I be of lower
Egypt.' 'You talk nonsense,' said I; 'however, I wish you would ask the
man the price of it.' Mr. Petulengro, going up to the jockey, inquired
the price of the horse--the man, looking at him scornfully, made no
reply. 'Young man,' said I, going up to the jockey, 'do me the favour to
tell me the price of that horse, as I suppose it is to sell.' The
jockey, who was a surly-looking man, of about fifty, looked at me for a
moment, then, after some hesitation, said, laconically, 'Seventy.'
'Thank you,' said I, and turned away. 'Buy that horse,' said Mr.
Petulengro, coming after me; 'the dook tells me that in less than three
months he will be sold for twice seventy.' 'I will have nothing to do
with him,' said I; 'besides, Jasper, I don't like his tail. Did you
observe what a mean scrubby tail he has?' 'What a fool you are,
brother,' said Mr. Petulengro; 'that very tail of his shows his breeding.
No good bred horse ever yet carried a fine tail--'tis your scrubby-tailed
horses that are your out-and-outers. Did you ever hear of Syntax,
brother? That tail of his puts me in mind of Syntax. Well, I say
nothing more, have your own way--all I wonder at is, that a horse like
him was ever brought to such a fair of dog cattle as this.'
We then made the best of our way to a public-house, where we had some
refreshment. I then proposed returning to the encampment, but Mr.
Petulengro declined, and remained drinking with his companions till about
six o'clock in the evening, when various jockeys from the fair came in.
After some conversation a jockey proposed a game of cards; and in a
little time, Mr. Petulengro and another gypsy sat down to play a game of
cards with two of the jockeys.
Though not much acquainted with cards, I soon conceived a suspicion that
the jockeys were cheating Mr. Petulengro and his companion, I therefore
called Mr. Petulengro aside, and gave him a hint to that effect. Mr.
Petulengro, however, instead of thanking me, told me to mind my own bread
and butter, and forthwith returned to his game. I continued watching the
players for some hours. The gypsies lost considerably, and I saw clearly
that the jockeys were cheating them most confoundedly. I therefore once
more called Mr. Petulengro aside, and told him that the jockeys were
cheating him, conjuring him to return to the encampment. Mr. Petulengro,
who was by this time somewhat the worse for liquor, now fell into a
passion, swore several oaths, and asking me who had made me a Moses over
him and his brethren, told me to return to the encampment by myself.
Incensed at the unworthy return which my well-meant words received, I
forthwith left the house, and having purchased a few articles of
provision, I set out for the dingle alone. It was dark night when I
reached it, and descending I saw the glimmer of a fire from the depths of
the dingle; my heart beat with fond anticipation of a welcome. 'Isopel
Berners is waiting for me,' said I, 'and the first word that I shall hear
from her lips is that she has made up her mind. We shall go to America,
and be so happy together.' On reaching the bottom of the dingle,
however, I saw seated near the fire, not Isopel Berners, but a gypsy
girl, who told me that Miss Berners when she went away had charged her to
keep up the fire, and have a kettle boiling against my arrival. Startled
at these words, I inquired at what hour Isopel had left, and whither she
was gone, and was told that she had left the dingle, with her cart, about
two hours after I departed; but where she was gone she (the girl) did not
know. I then asked whether she had left no message, and the girl replied
that she had left none, but had merely given directions about the kettle
and fire, putting, at the same time, sixpence into her hand. 'Very
strange,' thought I; then dismissing the gypsy girl I sat down by the
fire. I had no wish for tea, but sat looking on the embers, wondering
what could be the motive of the sudden departure of Isopel. 'Does she
mean to return?' thought I to myself. 'Surely she means to return,' Hope
replied, 'or she would not have gone away without leaving any
message'--'and yet she could scarcely mean to return,' muttered
Foreboding, 'or she would assuredly have left some message with the
girl.' I then thought to myself what a hard thing it would be, if, after
having made up my mind to assume the yoke of matrimony, I should be
disappointed of the woman of my choice. 'Well, after all,' thought I, 'I
can scarcely be disappointed; if such an ugly scoundrel as Sylvester had
no difficulty in getting such a nice wife as Ursula, surely I, who am not
a tenth part so ugly, cannot fail to obtain the hand of Isopel Berners,
uncommonly fine damsel though she be. Husbands do not grow upon
hedge-rows; she is merely gone after a little business and will return
to-morrow.'
Comforted in some degree by these hopeful imaginings, I retired to my
tent, and went to sleep.