The sun sank, and set at last, and they hurried on more quickly now, for
though they intended to sleep in the caravan, still they wanted to be
near a house. But gloaming fell, and the wood grew deeper and darker,
so at last Leonard, telling his sister not to be frightened, drew in off
the road, so that the caravan was closely hidden among spruce trees.
There was light enough, and no more, to gather grass for Don, who was
tied fast to the branch of a tree. Ossian was fastened to the axle so
that he might keep guard over all, and Leonard and Effie prepared for
bed, determined to get up as soon as it was sunrise.
This being their first night out, and the place being so lonesome and
drear, they were afraid to have a light, lest it might attract
evil-disposed persons to the caravan, although it was all forest land
around them.
They were sitting quietly talking over the events of the day, when
suddenly the voices of people chanting a hymn fell on their ears, and
made them quake with dread.
"Who can it be?" whispered Effie, clinging to her brother.
"They cannot be bad people," he said boldly, "singing a hymn; bad people
do not sing hymns. I will go and see. I'll take Ossian with me."
"And I, too, will go," cried Effie. So hand in hand, with the faithful
dog by their side, and guided by the solemn song that rose on the night
air at intervals, they walked slowly onwards through the wood.
All at once, on rounding a spruce thicket, the light of a fire gleamed
over their faces and figures. They would have retreated, for they had
come to see, not to be seen; but from a group of wild-looking men and
women who were gathered round the log fire in this clearing, a little
gipsy girl not bigger than Effie sprang up and rushed towards them.
She was bare-footed and bare-legged, and her black eyes sparkled like
diamonds in the firelight. Round her head and shoulders she wore a
ragged little tartan shawl.
"Walk gently," she whispered, or rather hissed. "Hush, hush! do not
speak. Granny is dying."
She took Leonard's half-unwilling hand as she spoke, and led them
forward to the light.
There was silence for a little while, for all eyes were turned upon the
new-comers.
Gipsies all undoubtedly, and of the very lowest caste, dark, swarthy,
ragged, and wild-looking.
Lying with her head in the lap of a tall woman was an aged crone, her
face almost as black as a negro's with age and exposure.
The fire blazed higher, its gleams reaching to the highest pine trees,
and lighting up the faces of all around.
It was a strange, a weird scene, almost awful in its impressiveness.
Once again the voices rose and swelled on the night air. Even bold
Leonard felt his heart beat faster, while Effie's hand trembled in his.
Book 1--CHAPTER FIVE.