whole world of heather, as it seemed, rolled out before
them.

On such a journey, setting out from London one bright morning, they
rode through Essex and stopped by chance at a little village inn. 'Twas
the village of Wickben, and on the signboard which hung swinging on a
post before the small thatched house of entertainment was painted a
brown cow.

None knew 'twas a Duke and his Duchess who dismounted and entered the
place. They had made sure that by their attire none could suspect them
of being more than ordinary travellers, modest enough to patronise a
humble place.

"But Lord, what a fine pair!" said the old fellow who was the landlord.
"Adam and Eve may have been such when God first made man and woman, and
had stuff in plenty to build them."

He was an aged man and talkative, and being eager for a chance to wag
his tongue and hear travellers' adventures, attended them closely. He
gave them their simple repast himself in small room, and as he moved
to and fro fell to gossiping, emboldened by their friendly gayety of
speech and by her Grace's smiling eyes.

"Your ladyship," he began at first, in somewhat awkward, involuntary
homage.

"Nay, gaffer, I am no ladyship," she answered, with Clo Wildairs's
unceremonious air. "I am but a gipsy woman in good luck for a day, and
my man is a gipsy, too, though his skin is fairer than mine. We are
going to join our camp near Camylott village. These horses are not ours
but borrowed--honestly. Is't not so, John Merton?" And she so laughed
at his Grace with her big, saucy eyes, that he wished he had been
indeed a gipsy man and could have kissed her openly.

"Art the Gipsies' queen?" asked the old man, bewitched by her.

"Not she," answered his Grace, "but a plain gipsy wench who makes
baskets and tells fortunes--for all her good looks. Thou'rt flattering
her, old fellow. All the men flatter her."

"'Tis well there are some to flatter me," said her Grace, showing her
white teeth. "Thou dost not. But 'tis always so when a poor woman weds
a man and tramps by the side of him instead of keeping him at her
feet."

And then they led their old host on to talk, and told him stories of
what gipsies did, and of their living in tents and sleeping in the
open, and of the ill-luck which sometimes befel them when the lord of
the manor they camped on was a hard man and evil tempered.

"'Tis a Duke who rules over Camylott, is't not?" the old fellow asked.

"Ay," was her Grace's ans