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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Лавка древностей
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- Стр. 251/459
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She
had
gained
a
little
wooden
bridge
,
which
,
thrown
across
the
stream
,
led
into
a
meadow
in
her
way
,
when
she
came
suddenly
upon
a
ruddy
light
,
and
looking
forward
more
attentively
,
discerned
that
it
proceeded
from
what
appeared
to
be
an
encampment
of
gipsies
,
who
had
made
a
fire
in
one
corner
at
no
great
distance
from
the
path
,
and
were
sitting
or
lying
round
it
.
As
she
was
too
poor
to
have
any
fear
of
them
,
she
did
not
alter
her
course
(
which
,
indeed
,
she
could
not
have
done
without
going
a
long
way
round
)
,
but
quickened
her
pace
a
little
,
and
kept
straight
on
.
A
movement
of
timid
curiosity
impelled
her
,
when
she
approached
the
spot
,
to
glance
towards
the
fire
.
There
was
a
form
between
it
and
her
,
the
outline
strongly
developed
against
the
light
,
which
caused
her
to
stop
abruptly
.
Then
,
as
if
she
had
reasoned
with
herself
and
were
assured
that
it
could
not
be
,
or
had
satisfied
herself
that
it
was
not
that
of
the
person
she
had
supposed
,
she
went
on
again
.
But
at
that
instant
the
conversation
,
whatever
it
was
,
which
had
been
carrying
on
near
this
fire
was
resumed
,
and
the
tones
of
the
voice
that
spoke
—
she
could
not
distinguish
words
—
sounded
as
familiar
to
her
as
her
own
.
She
turned
,
and
looked
back
.
The
person
had
been
seated
before
,
but
was
now
in
a
standing
posture
,
and
leaning
forward
on
a
stick
on
which
he
rested
both
hands
.
The
attitude
was
no
less
familiar
to
her
than
the
tone
of
voice
had
been
.
It
was
her
grandfather
.
Her
first
impulse
was
to
call
to
him
;
her
next
to
wonder
who
his
associates
could
be
,
and
for
what
purpose
they
were
together
.
Some
vague
apprehension
succeeded
,
and
,
yielding
to
the
strong
inclination
it
awakened
,
she
drew
nearer
to
the
place
;
not
advancing
across
the
open
field
,
however
,
but
creeping
towards
it
by
the
hedge
.
In
this
way
she
advanced
within
a
few
feet
of
the
fire
,
and
standing
among
a
few
young
trees
,
could
both
see
and
hear
,
without
much
danger
of
being
observed
.
There
were
no
women
or
children
,
as
she
had
seen
in
other
gipsy
camps
they
had
passed
in
their
wayfaring
,
and
but
one
gipsy
—
a
tall
athletic
man
,
who
stood
with
his
arms
folded
,
leaning
against
a
tree
at
a
little
distance
off
,
looking
now
at
the
fire
,
and
now
,
under
his
black
eyelashes
,
at
three
other
men
who
were
there
,
with
a
watchful
but
half
-
concealed
interest
in
their
conversation
.
Of
these
,
her
grandfather
was
one
;
the
others
she
recognised
as
the
first
card
-
players
at
the
public
-
house
on
the
eventful
night
of
the
storm
—
the
man
whom
they
had
called
Isaac
List
,
and
his
gruff
companion
.
One
of
the
low
,
arched
gipsy
-
tents
,
common
to
that
people
,
was
pitched
hard
by
,
but
it
either
was
,
or
appeared
to
be
,
empty
.
‘
Well
,
are
you
going
?
’
said
the
stout
man
,
looking
up
from
the
ground
where
he
was
lying
at
his
ease
,
into
her
grandfather
’
s
face
.
‘
You
were
in
a
mighty
hurry
a
minute
ago
.
Go
,
if
you
like
.
You
’
re
your
own
master
,
I
hope
?
’
‘
Don
’
t
vex
him
,
’
returned
Isaac
List
,
who
was
squatting
like
a
frog
on
the
other
side
of
the
fire
,
and
had
so
screwed
himself
up
that
he
seemed
to
be
squinting
all
over
;
‘
he
didn
’
t
mean
any
offence
.
’
