slumbrous eyes a hairbreadth; the girl flashed one quick, comprehensive glance upon me, and then resumed her occupation. The old woman nodded familiarly without rising, and observed quietly, "So you are come at last, Peter Meredith. I trust you have brought good news of Marmaduke Heath." "He is better," said I, "much better; and he knows who brought him help, and is very grateful. You have been expected daily at the Dovecot, where something more substantial than mere thanks is waiting for you." "Rachel Liversedge desires neither silver nor gold," returned the old woman; "she has had her reward already, if what you say be true. It was not for love of the boy that I acted as I did; he has too much evil blood in him to earn my liking. But I am glad as though he were my own son that he will live." "Carew," cried she, triumphantly, "no wonder <i>bura</i> Sir Massingberd looked <i>kalo</i> as ourselves." "Oh, the great man looks black, does he?" said I. The old woman dropped the bird, the girl her fir-cones, and both stared wildly at me, as though my voice had come from the clouds; the man sprung to his feet, and uttered a cry of wonder. "What! do you speak our tongue?" cried he. "Nay; you speak mine," returned I, calmly. "<i>Bura</i> is great; and <i>kala</i>, which you call <i>kalo</i>, is black, of course; everybody knows that who knows Hindustanee." Then the three burst out together in a language, one word out of four of which seemed to be more or less familiar to me; as for understanding what they said, of course it was simply impossible; but no matter, I had established my reputation. From that moment, I felt myself to be the honoured guest of the family. Would I smoke? Would I eat? Would I drink? I was thirsty, and I said that I would gladly take some water--which, at a venture, I called <i>paince</i>. "<i>Paunce</i>!" cried they, extravagantly delighted. "He talks like a true Cingari; and only look! is he not dark-skinned!" The few words that my old ayah had taught me in India had thus procured me a hearty welcome in a Midshire fir-plantation. "Sit down by me, Peter Meredith, my son," exclaimed the old woman; "and do you fetch him water, Mina." I dismounted, and did as I was bid; while the young girl took a pitcher, and presently brought it filled from a running Stream near by, and offered it to me, like another Rebecca. But her grandmother--for such she was--cried, "Stop! let me put something in it;" and produced from her pocket the self-same flask which she herself had given me a few weeks ago, and which I had thought was left behind at the Dovecot. "Why, I was blaming myself for not having brought you that thing back to-day," said I; "I never heard of your coming to claim it."