'Good heavens, Sinfi! Well, I'm proud of my kinswoman.' 'And he says that Fenella Stanley know'd more about the true dukkerin, the dukkerin of the Romanies, than anybody as were ever heerd on.' 'She seems to have been pretty superstitious,' I said, 'by all accounts. But what has that to do with the cross?' 'You'll put it in the tomb again.' 'Never!' 'Fenella Stanley will see arter that.' 'Fenella Stanley! Why, she's dead and dust.' 'That's what I mean; that's why she can make you do it, and will.' 'Well, well! I did not come to talk about the cross; I want to have a quiet word with you about another matter.' She sprang away as if in terror or else in anger. Then recovering herself she took the kettle from the prop. I followed her to the tent, which, save that it was made of brown blanket, looked more like a tent on a lawn than a Gypsy-tent. All its comfort seemed, however, to give no great delight to Videy, the cashier and female financier-general of the Lovell family, who, in a state of absorbed untidiness, sitting at the end of the tent upon a palliasse covered with a counterpane of quilted cloth of every hue, was evidently occupied in calculating her father's profits and losses at the recent horse-fair. The moment Videy saw us she hurriedly threw the coin into the silver tea-pot by her side, and put it beneath the counterpane, with that instinctive and unnecessary secrecy which characterised her, and made her such an amazing contrast both to her sister Sinfi and to Rhona Boswell. After Panuel had received me in his usual friendly manner, we all sat down, partly inside the tent and partly outside, around the white table-cloth that had been spread upon the grass. The Scollard took no note of me; he had no eyes for any one but Rhona Boswell. When tea was over Sinfi left the camp, and strode across the Dell towards the river. I followed her. II It was not till we reached a turn in the river that is more secluded than any other--a spot called 'Gypsy Ring,' a lovely little spot within the hollow of birch trees and gorse--that she spoke a few words to me, in a constrained tone. Then I said, as we sat down upon a green hillock within the Ring: 'Sinfi, the baskets my aunt saw in Winnie's hand when she was standing in the rain were of the very kind that Videy makes.' 'Oh, _that's_ what you wanted to say!' said she; 'you think Videy knows something about Winnie. But that's all a fancy o' yourn, and it's of no use looking for Winnie any more among the Romanies. Even supposin' you did hear the Welsh gillie--and I think it was all a fancy--you can't make nothin' out o' them baskets as your aunt seed. Us Romanies don't make one in a hundud of the fancy baskets as is sold for Gypsy baskets in the streets, and besides, the hawkers and costers what buys 'em of us sells 'em agin to other hawkers and costers, and there ain't no tracin' on 'em.'