“It’s along o’ them childer,” said Mick, though less roughly now.  “You’re a-spoiling of them, and I won’t have it.  To-morrow evening’ll see us at Crookford, and the day after they’re to be took to the Signor.  Their looks’ll please him—­I’m not afeard for that; but I’ve gave him to understand that they’re well broke in, and there’ll be no trouble in teaching them the tricks and singin’ and dancin’ and all that.  And he’s to give me a good sum down and a share of the profits.  And if he’s not pleased and they’re turned back on my hands—­well, it’ll be your doing—­that I can tell you, and you shall pay for it.  So there—­you know my mind.”

He had worked himself up into rage and excitement again while he spoke, but Diana did not seem to care.

“What do you know of the man? will he be good to them?” she said coolly.

Mick gave a sneering laugh.

“He won’t starve them nor beat them so as to spoil their pretty looks,” he said.  “They’ll have to do what they’re told, and learn quick what they’ve got to learn.  You don’t suppose childer like that ’ull pay for their keep if they’re to be made princes and princesses of?”

“Then what did you steal them for?  You do nothing but grumble about them now you’ve got them—­why didn’t you, any way, take them home after a bit and get something for your pains?”

“I thought o’ doing so at the first,” said Mick sulkily, as if forced to speak in spite of himself.  “But they’re sharper nor I thought for.  No knowing what they’d ha’ told.  And when Johnny Vyse came by and told o’ the fair, and the Signor sure to be ready to take ’em and pay straight for ’em, I see’d no use in running my head into a noose by taking ’em back and getting took myself for my pains.  I’ve had enough o’ that sort o’ thing, as you might know.”

“Let me take them home, then,” said Diana suddenly.  “I’ll manage so as no blame shall fall on you—­no one shall hear anything about you.  And for myself I don’t care.  I’d almost as lief be in prison as not sometimes.”

Mick stared at her.

“Are ye a-going out of yer mind?” he said, “or d’ye think I am?  After all the trouble I’ve had with the brats, is it likely I’ll send ’em home and lose all?  It’s too late now to try for a reward; they’re sharp enough to tell they could have been took home long ago.  But if the Signor isn’t square with me, I may make something that way too—­I can tell on him maybe.  But I’ll take care to get my reward and be out o’ the way first.  I’m not such a fool as you took me for after all, eh?  And if you see what’s for your good you’ll do your best to help me, and you’ll find I’ll not forget you.  One way or another I’m pretty sure to make a tidy thing of them.”

Diana turned away, and for a moment or two there was silence.  Tim’s heart beat so fast he almost felt as if the gipsies would hear it.  He could not see Diana’s face, but he trembled with fear lest Mick’s bribes should win her over.  And when her words came it seemed as if his fears were to be fulfilled.