‘I am sure that word will hang upon my memory,’ said Belle.

‘Why hang upon it?’ said I.

‘Because the old women in the great house used to call so the chimney-hook, on which they hung the kettle; in like manner, on the hake of my memory I will hang your hake.’

‘Good!’ said I, ‘you will make an apt scholar; but mind that I did not say hake, but haik; the words are, however, very much alike; and, as you observe, upon your hake you may hang my haik. We will now proceed to the numerals.’

‘What are numerals?’ said Belle.

‘Numbers. I will say the Haikan numbers up to ten. There - have you heard them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, try and repeat them.’

‘I only remember number one,’ said Belle, ‘and that because it is me.’

‘ I will repeat them again,’ said I, ‘and pay greater attention. Now, try again.’

‘Me, jergo, earache.’

‘I neither said jergo nor earache. I said yergou and yerek. Belle, I am afraid I shall have some difficulty with you as a scholar.’

Belle made no answer. Her eyes were turned in the direction of the winding path which led from the bottom of the hollow, where we were seated, to the plain above. ‘Gorgio shunella,’ she said at length, in a low voice.

‘Pure Rommany,’ said I; ‘where?’ I added, in a whisper.

‘Dovey odoi,’ said Belle, nodding with her head towards the path.

‘I will soon see who it is,’ said I; and starting up, I rushed towards the pathway, intending to lay violent hands on any one I might find lurking in its windings. Before, however, I had reached its commencement, a man, somewhat above the middle height, advanced from it into the dingle, in whom I recognised the man in black whom I had seen in the public-house.