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Updated: September 23, 2025
"Well, then, here it is, and much good may it do you; as for my name, I got it from my mother." "Your mother's name, then, was Isopel?" "Isopel Berners." "But had you never a father?" "Yes, I had a father," said the girl, sighing, "but I don't bear his name." "Is it the fashion, then, in your country for children to bear their mother's name?"
If I hadn’t taken your part against Blazing Bosville, you wouldn’t be now taking tea with me.’ ‘It is true that you struck me in the face first; but we’ll let that pass. So that man’s name is Bosville; what’s your own?’ ‘Isopel Berners.’ ‘How did you get that name?’ ‘I say, young man, you seem fond of asking questions: will you have another cup of tea?’ ‘I was just going to ask for another.’
What may be called the Isopel Berners chapter of Borrow’s life was soon to be followed by the “veiled period”—that is to say, the period between the point where ends ‘The Romany Rye’ and the point where the Bible Society engages Borrow. Dr. Knapp’s mind seems a good deal exercised concerning this period.
'By whom else? said I; 'surely you are not thinking of driving me away? 'You have as much right here as myself, said Isopel, 'as I have told you before; but I must be going myself. 'Well, said I, 'we can go together; to tell you the truth, I am rather tired of this place. 'Our paths must be separate, said Belle. 'Separate, said I, 'what do you mean?
Isopel was seated near the fire, over which the kettle was now hung; she had changed her dress—no signs of the dust and fatigue of her late excursion remained; she had just added to the fire a small billet of wood, two or three of which I had left beside it; the fire cracked, and a sweet odour filled the dingle.
Isopel was seated near the fire, over which the kettle was now hung; she had changed her dress no signs of the dust and fatigue of her late excursion remained; she had just added to the fire a small billet of wood, two or three of which I had left beside it; the fire cracked, and a sweet odour filled the dingle.
The next moment the sound became very loud, rather too loud, I thought, to proceed from her wheels, and then by degrees became fainter. Rushing out of my tent, I hurried up the path to the top of the dingle, where I heard the sound distinctly enough, but it was going from me, and evidently proceeded from something much larger than the cart of Isopel.
Although novelists, dramatists, and poets are particularly fond of trying to paint the gipsies, it cannot be said that many of them have been successful in their delineations. And this is because the inner and the outer life of a proscribed race must necessarily be unlike each other. Meg Merrilies is no more a gipsy than is Borrow’s delightful Isopel Berners.
'A near thing, said the landlord, 'but a good leap. Now, no more leaping, so long as I have control over the animal." A very different beautiful scene is where Mrs. Petulengro braids Isopel's fair hair in Gypsy fashion, half against her will, and Lavengro looks on, showing Isopel at a glance his disapproval of the fashion, while Petulengro admires it.
So I determined not to follow Isopel Berners; I took her lock of hair, and looked at it, then put it in her letter, which I folded up and carefully stowed away, resolved to keep both for ever, but I determined not to follow her.
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