Borrow left his Welsh friends to join no less a personage than Jasper Petulengro, "one of the clibberty-clabber," quoted Peter from a Welsh poet; Borrow's pal had a wondrous story to tell of Mrs. Herne, of the "drows," who had "been her own hinjiri," _i.e._ hanged herself. The girl Leonora told Jasper that she had tracked Borrow and found him, alive and well, 'discussing religion with a Methody, and that when she told the old woman, Mrs. Herne said it was all up with her, and she must take a long journey. In March, 1911, died Isaac Herne, of the same family, son of beautiful Sinfi; he was known as "King of the Gypsies," and to the last would tell of his meetings and talks with the "Romany Rye." Unlike his clanswoman, who was buried "like a Roman woman of the old blood," he was buried in gorgious fashion--in the graveyard of Manston Church, near Leeds. Borrow soon parted from Jasper, and settled himself in the beautiful Mumper's Dingle, where he had the historic fight with the "Flaming Tinman," getting the victory by using his "Long Melford," on the advice of that towering and handsome female bearing the name of Isopel Berners, who now comes on the scene, and who will ever remain one of the most fascinating figures in the wonderful gallery of Borrovian characters. "I never saw such a face and figure," exclaims Borrow, "both regal--why, you look like Ingeborg, Queen of Norway; she had twelve brothers, you know, and could lick them all, though they were heroes-- "'On Dovrefeld in Norway, Were once together seen, The twelve heroic brothers Of Ingeborg the queen.'" (See "Romantic Ballads," p. 59.) In Chapter XV. of "The Romany Rye," Borrow thus describes the last farewell to Belle, as he called her: "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." This little book, concerned chiefly with Norwich, cannot follow the wayfarings of Borrow, so enchantingly described in "Lavengro" and "The Romany Rye," in chapters which justify to the full Mr. Birrell's enthusiastic admiration when he wrote: "The delightful, the bewitching, the never sufficiently to be praised George Borrow--Borrow, the Friend of Man, at whose bidding lassitude and languor strike their tents and flee; and health and spirits, adventure and human comradeship, take up the reins of life, whistle to the horses and away you go!"