more!" said the old woman suddenly, letting the girl's hand fall, and uttering a sort of moan. "Go home, child, and may the sun shine upon your golden head while it will!" "Why will you tell no more?" asked Primrose. "Would you fain turn my silly head with your praises, and hide from me my faults and my sorrows?" "I will tell no more," repeated the gipsy steadily; "sickness and death must come to us all, soon or late, late or soon, who can tell?" "You cannot tell," said Primrose. "Nay, it were better that I should let you say no more, for God alone can tell when we shall die or suffer sickness. I would not seek to learn it from you, for methinks it would be a sin." "Suffer no one to tell your fortune, girl, but me," said the old woman, as she hobbled away, rocking herself and moaning as if in pain. "It were a pity to bring tears to such pretty eyes. Yet methought there was but little pity left in this hard heart! Promise, girl!" and she turned again, and eyed Primrose fiercely. "None shall ever tell it again," answered Primrose, shutting up her little hand tight. "It was but for fun I let you do it, dear gipsy, and I believe not a word, I warrant you! Yet I am not sure but I shall indeed be scolded by my foster-father. Methinks I am ever doing for fun what I must afterwards repent of! Content you then, good gipsy, for indeed there is none of whom I would seek to know this future of mine on which you look so darkly mysterious! Methinks God would have us take each day as He sends it, and by ever using it well, so be ready against the future when it comes." "God," muttered the old woman under her breath, "I have long since forgotten that word. Speak it not, girl! That name has nought to do with me!" and with a wild shriek, she shook off the detaining hand of Primrose, and plunged into the bushes at the side of the road, whence came, in quavering accents to the young girl's ear, as she turned slowly homeward, the old refrain which the gipsy had ever been so fond of singing: "And in the dark water together, The primrose and lily shall sleep." "I marvel if by the Primrose she means me!" said the girl to herself. But she forgot the rude rhyme quickly in the sad thoughts of pity and sympathy for the wretched old woman, which her last despairing words had evoked in her breast, and some few moments later was pouring out her tale to the old boatman, and busily planning some missionary scheme for the rescue of the poor benighted wanderer. "I would our vicar might be able to seek her out, and turn her poor crazy mind to some new and better thought, whatever!" said Jack. "But he is an old man, and scarce fit to track so slippery a fish. Moreover, I misdoubt me at times that he hath ever dwelt over much among the dead in his library, to the forgetfulness of the living, which it were treason to say of so good and holy a man, save only between such true friends as you and me, Primrose! Yet every man