"Oh, I see. You are the master of the snake." "Duvel!" The gypsy stared at her in astonishment, and the film seemed to peel off his eyes. "Do you know the black language?" "I know that 'engro' means a 'master,'" the girl said, carelessly, "and you tell me that 'sap' is 'snake' so I put the two together. Master of the Snake, Job Lovel--that's what you are." "Hang me if I ever heard a Gentile lady so bold!" cried the man, with another stare, slipping the hissing viper back into his breast. "But I say, lady, have you more coin--a mere sovereign now?" "I have not; and if I had, you would not get it." "But if I were to make you!" Job took a step forward. "I would run this through you!" And the gypsy found a shining steel weapon at his breast. He started back with an oath. Ruth laughed; and there was a merciless ring in her mirth which did more to terrify the man than the sight of the weapon itself. "You are a brave Sapengro, brother, to try and terrify a woman!" she said, in the Romany tongue. "Duvel!" cried Job again, and his expression changed to one of friendliness and admiration. "Why didn't you say you were a Romany?" "Because I am a Gentile, brother," Ruth said, still in the calo jib. "I took a fancy to learn your tongue, and I learnt it from a gypsy. I knew Lurien, Dukkeripen, Hakkeripen, and all the rest. Well, can I put up my dagger?" "You are a sacred sister to me," said Job, with deep respect; and she saw from his manner that she had nothing further to fear. Indeed, he offered her the half-a-crown which she had already given him. "Take it, sister," he said. "You are a true gypsy to me, and I take nothing from you." She laughed, and slipped her dagger into its sheath. "Keep it, Job," she said, reverting to the English tongue. "I see you are poor and ill." "I am dying," replied the man in a sombre tone, still looking at her. "Ah, soon I shall be in the earth with my sap--my only friend." "You had better go to Hollyoaks and get some food. "Hollyoaks?" he repeated, fixing his shining eyes on this--to him--very extraordinary Gentile lady. "Do you live there? Is your name Cass?" "Yes; I am the daughter of Mr. Cass, of Hollyoaks." "Duvel! and you come here!" he said, under his breath, and casting a glance at the cottage behind him. "Why shouldn't I come here?" she asked, sharply. She fancied she saw an uneasy look on his face. "Oh, nothing, my sister--nothing. You have an aunt--she is not Romany?" "Mrs. Marshall? No. She knows nothing of the calo jib. Why do you ask?" Job burst out laughing, and nodded. "I go to her house for food sometimes. She won't see me die for want of a crust. But you are her niece," there was a puzzled look in his eyes. "Can I help you?" "No. I only came to look at the place. There was a murder committed here." "Yes; but that was before I came into this part of the country. Well, sister, what of that?" "Nothing. You can go; I want to look round here for a time.