This sinister reference did nothing to ease us. Looking around, the cunning and superstition that was everywhere about us took a direr significance. As their resentment in no wise abated, it struck us that we should do well to resume our way. But the man with the flute assured us that we were under no necessity, for since we had sat at meat with them, the mischief, if any, was already done. He said besides that his people were the civillest in the world, and whatever their fear of us, they would be the last to visit their dislike upon us. As the fire was so bright and genial, and our present position, despite any little inconveniences that might arise therefrom, was so much more to be desired than any other we were likely to lie in that night, we were seduced to remain. It may have been against our better judgment that we took this course, or like the gypsies themselves, we may have had an instinct of something impending, for in the end we were to rue it bitterly. Our friend with the flute, doubtless to compose the minds of his more nervous brethren, began a strange sort of melody. It was played not very well to be sure, but they gave an alert attention to it that furnished an instance of the power of music on untutored minds. Presently one of the women broke into a song to match the air. It was in the gypsy language, and though sung in a low crooning voice and a primitive fashion, it was by no means unpleasing, whilst its weird character was highly appropriate to the place in which it was performed. The rude audience was vastly soothed by it too; their fierce looks grew softer; and soon they fell to regarding the music entirely instead of Cynthia and myself.