possible: the qualms continued, deadly pains shot through my whole
frame; I could bear my agonies no longer, and I fell into a trance or
swoon. How long I continued therein I know not; on recovering, however,
I felt somewhat better, and attempted to lift my head off my couch; the
next moment, however, the qualms and pains returned, if possible, with
greater violence than before. I am dying, thought I, like a dog, without
any help; and then methought I heard a sound at a distance like people
singing, and then once more I relapsed into my swoon.

I revived just as a heavy blow sounded upon the canvas of the tent. I
started, but my condition did not permit me to rise; again the same kind
of blow sounded upon the canvas; I thought for a moment of crying out and
requesting assistance, but an inexplicable something chained my tongue,
and now I heard a whisper on the outside of the tent. "He does not move,
bebee," said a voice which I knew. "I should not wonder if it has done
for him already; however, strike again with your ran;" and then there was
another blow, after which another voice cried aloud in a strange tone:
"Is the gentleman of the house asleep, or is he taking his dinner?" I
remained quite silent and motionless, and in another moment the voice
continued: "What, no answer? what can the gentleman of the house be about
that he makes no answer? Perhaps the gentleman of the house may be
darning his stockings?" Thereupon a face peered into the door of the
tent, at the farther extremity of which I was stretched. It was that of
a woman, but owing to the posture in which she stood, with her back to
the light, and partly owing to a large straw bonnet, I could distinguish
but very little of the features of her countenance. I had, however,
recognised her voice; it was that of my old acquaintance, Mrs. Herne.
"Ho, ho, sir!" said she, "here you are. Come here, Leonora," said she to
the gypsy girl, who pressed in at the other side of the door; "here is
the gentleman, not asleep, but only stretched out after dinner. Sit down
on your ham, child, at the door; I shall do the same. There--you have
seen me before, sir, have you not?"

"The gentleman makes no answer, bebee; perhaps he does not know you."

"I have known him of old, Leonora," said Mrs. Herne; "and, to tell you
the truth, though I spoke to him just now, I expected no answer."

"It's a way he has, bebee, I suppose?"

"Yes, child, it's a way he has."

"Take