‘That will do, my sweet lady,’ said she, preserving the horrid whining note in her voice, and then, taking my hand, she feigned to explore it for some moments, perhaps minutes, so long did the pause seem. She stood with my fingers in her hand, poring upon the palm. I cast a look around me, and in spite of my nervousness and uneasiness, that amounted to positive distress, I had some difficulty to prevent myself from breaking into an hysterical laugh at the countenances which surrounded us. Mrs. Webber seemed unable to draw her breath; the Miss Glanvilles stood with their mouths partly open; Sir Frederick Thompson’s face was distorted by a grin of expectation; but it would need the brush of a great comic artist to reproduce the looks of those people whilst they waited for the gipsy to speak. She suddenly let fall my hand, drew herself erect and receded a step, causing a momentary confusion amongst the passengers who stood immediately behind her. She muttered awhile, and then in a sort of singsong, drawling voice addressed me, as nearly as I can recollect, as follows:-- ‘It is not true that you are a single woman as they are saying throughout this ship. It is nothing to me that you have no wedding ring, for what signifies the want of a wedding ring when a poor lady is found as you were, bleeding and insensible? What signifies a wedding ring, I say, to such as you, found as you were, my sorrowful lady?--for are there not thieves upon the sea as there are thieves upon the land? And I do not need to be told that a sailor may be a good man until he is tempted, and then he will turn thief; yes, he will turn thief, even though he would give all that he has stolen for a drink of water and a piece of biscuit.’ ‘How extraordinary!’ I heard Mrs. Webber say. ‘Oh yes,’ continued the gipsy, slightly gesticulating with her right hand, ‘the wedding ring does not signify. You are a married woman. I have looked into your eyes and I have seen a husband there; I have looked into your eyes and I have seen children there. You are a married woman, my lady. I tell you that, and I will tell you more; you are a young married woman. You have not long been married. Your husband is mourning for you, but he will not mourn long. Give me your hand.’ She seized my hand with impassioned energy, and continued to speak with her eyes fixed upon the palm of it. ‘You will be long separated from your husband. A dark shadow will stand between you. Oh, it is very clear--here is the sign: it is the shadow of death, that will stand between you. It will roll away, but another shadow of death will take its place, and though it will not stand between you and your husband, it will be dark upon your soul, aye, even unto the grave.’ ‘The woman certainly talks poetically,’ said Mrs. Lee, in a low voice in my ear, ‘and it is clever of her to say what it has not occurred to other people to think of.’