serpent, Conscience.]

'The Romany Sap? You mean the Romany conscience, I suppose, Sinfi:
you mean the trouble a Romany feels when he has broken the Romany
laws, when he has done wrong according to the Romany notions of right
and wrong. But you are innocent of all wrong-doing.'

'I don't know nothin' about conscience,' said she, 'I mean the Romany
Sap. Don't you mind when we was a-goin' up Snowdon arter Winifred
that mornin'? I told you as the rocks, an' the trees, an' the winds,
an' the waters cuss us when we goes ag'in the Romany blood an' ag'in
the dukkerin' dook. The cuss that the rocks, an' the trees, an' the
winds, an' the waters makes, an' sends it out to bite the burk
[Footnote] o' the Romany as does wrong--that's the Romany Sap.'

[Footnote: Breast.]

'You mean conscience, Sinfi.'

'No, I don't mean nothink o' the sort; the Romanies ain't got no
conscience, an' if the Gorgios has, it's precious little good as it
does 'em, as far as I can see. But the Romanies has got the Romany
Sap. Everything wrong as you does, such as killin' a Romany, or
cheatin' a Romany, or playin' the lubbany with a Gorgio, or breakin'
your oath to your mammy as is dead, or goin' ag'in the dukkerin'
dook, an' sich like, every one o' these things turns into the Romany
Sap.'

'You're speaking of conscience, Sinfi.'

'Every one o' them wrong things as you does seems to make out o' the
burk o' the airth a sap o' its own as has got its own pertickler
stare, but allus it's a hungry sap, Hal, an' a sap wi' bloody fangs.
An' it's a sap as follows the bad un's feet, Hal--follows the bad
un's feet wheresomever they goes; it's a sap as goes slippin' thro'
the dews o' the grass on the brightest mornin', an' dodges round the
trees in the sweetest evenin', an' goes wriggle, wriggle across the
brook jis' when you wants to enjoy yourself, jis' when you wants to
stay a bit on the steppin'-stuns to enjoy the sight o' the dear
little minnows a-shootin' atween the water-creases. That's what the
Romany Sap is.'

'Don't talk like that, Sinfi,' I said; 'you make me feel the sap
myself.'

'It's a sap, Hal, as follows you everywheres, everywheres, till you
feel as you must stop an' face it whatever comes; an' stop you do at
last, an' turn round you must, an' bare your burk you must to the
sharp teeth o' that air wenemous sap.'

'Well, and what then, Sinfi?'

'Well then, when you ha' given up to the thing its fill o' your
blood, then the trees, an