far away into the solid earth. "This is my castle," said the woman with a hoarse chuckle, "where I eat and sleep, and keep guard over the river-spirit, when I am weary and have grown rich by wandering through the valleys, telling pretty fortunes to youths and maidens. Give me the silver coin! My store is well-nigh spent, and I must soon go forth again to earn my bread. And I grow old and faint, and am often like to die by the way. I would fain die and be buried here by the river springs, for there is no curse here like yon castle in the valley. My daughter died in the castle--the curse drove her mad. Nay, I will hear naught of your God, He loves me not, and I have long forgotten Him! What, you will have no pretty fortune for the silver coin? I can see true love in your hand, but neither long life, nor wedding, nor fair children! There, leave me, and bring but the bit of red gold another day, and I will look for better things. But beware when the river breaks loose in the valley, and beware the pale Primrose, who dwells on its banks, an you will not carry an aching heart to your grave. Go!" And shaking him off suddenly, and brandishing her stick wildly in his face, she tottered to her heap of rags in a dark recess of the cavern, pressing the silver coin ravenously to her lips. Percival Vere advanced one moment to her side, and kneeling for a second upon the stony floor, murmured: "May God have mercy on your soul!" and left the cavern, sick at heart, but with a firm resolve to seek out this poor lost sheep upon the mountain, until, beneath the mask of the Evil One, he had found again the lost image of God in her soul. On his return to the farm he found it too late for any conversation with Lady Bryn Afon and Primrose, but giving some account of his adventure at the morning meal on the following day, he found Primrose deeply interested in his encounter with the old gipsy, to whose frequently recurring presence in the hamlet of Bryn Afon she had been from her early childhood so well accustomed. "I was even curious enough to suffer her to tell my fortune," she said, "but I repented me afterwards of so doing, fearing I had been sinful. In truth, it was scarce worth the silver she demanded, for though fair in part, it was clouded by evil forebodings so dark that she would not even confess them!" "Pay no heed to her witcheries, sweet one," said Lady Bryn Afon; "she ever bears ill-will to aught that is young and fair. I would that you had not suffered her to tell her idle tales in your hearing! Yet you have too good sense, I warrant, to let aught of her dark speech trouble you?" "Indeed, I have scarce given it a thought," said Primrose, "and have but pitied her the more for leading so miserable and unholy a life. Did you also submit your hand to her scrutiny, Master Vere?" "Nay," he answered somewhat gravely; "yet I could not choose but hear some of her sayings while she grasped my hand and