it; and glancing, for a
moment, at the brother and sister as they stood together, as if there
were something in their strong affection which touched him very deeply,
withdrew into his chamber, and was soon the only watcher under that
quiet roof.

CHAPTER 50

Involves a serious Catastrophe

The little race-course at Hampton was in the full tide and height of
its gaiety; the day as dazzling as day could be; the sun high in the
cloudless sky, and shining in its fullest splendour. Every gaudy colour
that fluttered in the air from carriage seat and garish tent top, shone
out in its gaudiest hues. Old dingy flags grew new again, faded gilding
was re-burnished, stained rotten canvas looked a snowy white, the very
beggars' rags were freshened up, and sentiment quite forgot its charity
in its fervent admiration of poverty so picturesque.

It was one of those scenes of life and animation, caught in its very
brightest and freshest moments, which can scarcely fail to please;
for if the eye be tired of show and glare, or the ear be weary with a
ceaseless round of noise, the one may repose, turn almost where it
will, on eager, happy, and expectant faces, and the other deaden
all consciousness of more annoying sounds in those of mirth and
exhilaration. Even the sunburnt faces of gypsy children, half naked
though they be, suggest a drop of comfort. It is a pleasant thing to see
that the sun has been there; to know that the air and light are on them
every day; to feel that they ARE children, and lead children's lives;
that if their pillows be damp, it is with the dews of Heaven, and not
with tears; that the limbs of their girls are free, and that they are
not crippled by distortions, imposing an unnatural and horrible penance
upon their sex; that their lives are spent, from day to day, at least
among the waving trees, and not in the midst of dreadful engines which
make young children old before they know what childhood is, and give
them the exhaustion and infirmity of age, without, like age, the
privilege to die. God send that old nursery tales were true, and that
gypsies stole such children by the score!

The great race of the day had just been run; and the close lines of
people, on either side of the course, suddenly breaking up and pouring
into it, imparted a new liveliness to the scene, which was again all
busy movement. Some hurried eagerly to catch a glimpse of the winning
horse; others darted to and fro, searching, no