"A person who is a friend to you." "Do you know what place this is?" "Yes—it is the head-quarters of the Zingarees." "So far, so good," said the porter. "Well—wait a few moments—I must see." The trap closed—the lobby was again involved in total darkness; and for the next ten minutes the silence of death appeared to reign within the house. At the expiration of that time the inner door was opened:; and the porter, bearing a light, appeared. "You may enter," he said. "The Zingarees never refuse hospitality when it can be safely granted." Markham crossed the threshold without hesitation. The porter closed both doors with great care. "Follow me," said the man. He then led the way up stairs to the first floor, and conducted our hero into a room where there were several beds, all of which were unoccupied. "You have your choice of the downies," observed the porter, with a half smile; "and I shall leave you this light. Do you require any food?" "None, I thank you." "So I should think," said the man drily, as he surveyed Markham's appearance in a manner which seemed to express a wonder why a person in his situation of life had come thither at all. We have, however, before observed that curiosity formed but a faint feature of the gipsy character; and, even when it existed, it was not expressed in verbal queries. Moreover, individuals in a respectable sphere not unfrequently sought in the Holy Land a refuge against the officers of the laws which they violated; and hence the appearance of a person had nothing to do with the fact of admission into the gipsies' establishment. Nevertheless, the porter did survey Markham in a dubious way for a moment; but whether the preceding incidents of the night, or the calm tranquillity of our hero's manner,—so inconsistent with the idea that he was anxious to conceal himself from the eyes of justice,—excited the suspicions of the porter, it is impossible to say. But that glance of curiosity was only momentary. Averting his eyes from our hero, the porter placed the light upon the floor, wished him a good night's rest, and retired. But to the surprise and annoyance of Markham, the gipsy locked the door of the apartment. As the key turned with a grating sound, a tremor crept over Richard's frame; and he almost repented having sought the interior of an abode the character and inmates of which were almost entirely unknown to him. Indeed, all that he knew of either was derived from the meagre information of the man (and that man an acknowledged assassin!) who had induced him to visit the place where he now found himself. "How weak I am to yield to this sentiment of fear!" he exclaimed. "Rather let me determine how to act."