e you not some message for us? You myrmidon of the law, have
you no greeting for the queen of the gypsies?"

The sheriff looked at the queen and then at her attendants. They were
fierce-looking, unshorn fellows, with butchers' knives stuck in their
rope girdles, and seemed but to await a nod from her tawny majesty to
employ their formidable weapons.

"Have you nothing for us?" asked the dark lady.

"Nothing," said the sheriff, faintly.

"Ho, ho!" laughed the wrinkled crone. "The man of law is forgetful.
You, _Dommerar_, search him, and see if he speaks the truth."

A sandy-haired little fellow advanced at the summons, and rifled the
pockets of the sheriff with a dexterity which proved him an adept in
the business. A teacher of music would have envied his fingering.
Having caused the pockets of the sheriff to disgorge, he thus, in the
canting language, enumerated their contents:--

"The _moabite's ribbin runs thin_, (the sheriff's cash runs low.) He
has no _mint_, (gold,) and only a _mopus_ or two."

"Fool!" said the queen, "has he no paper?"

"Ay, ay, missus, here's his _fiddle_," (writ,) was the answer.

"Give it me," cried the queen. "Here, you _patrico_, our eyes are bad.
Read this scrawl, and acquaint us with the contents."

The _patrico_, or hedge priest, a fellow in a rusty, black suit, with
a beard of three weeks' growth, bleared eyes, and a red, Bardolph
nose, took the writ, which he had more difficulty in reading than Tony
Lumpkin, when he received the letter of Hastings. At first, he held it
upside down, then reversed it, looking at it at arm's length, and then
gave it a closer scrutiny. He finally gave it as his opinion, that it
empowered the _queer-cuffin_ (so he termed the sheriff) to seize upon
the so called queen of the gypsies, accused of the crime of murder,
and also to apprehend her followers. When he had concluded, the old
crone snatched the writ from his hand, and, tearing it to pieces,
flung the fragments into the face of the sheriff.

"Take him away," said she, "and leave us alone with the sexton of St.
Hubert's. Guard him well, for we wish to show him how we administer
justice among us. We will be judge and jury, and our _upright man_
shall be the executioner."

She waved her tawny hand with the air of a princess dismissing her
courtiers, and her mandate was obeyed. She was left alone with the
sexton of St. Hubert's. Looking him steadily in the face, she said,--

"John Pembroke, I g