There was ever the same contrast between the component parts of Esther's dual existence: after fairyland the humble, prosaic existence. A few days after that triumphal evening Esther found herself alone at the end of the garden, embroidery in hand. The little terrace upon which she had seated herself was enclosed by a breast-high wall. Above this wall a trellis covered with vines and climbing plants would have formed on that side an impenetrable screen, had not large oval apertures been managed whence a view of the surrounding country could be secured. Laying her work aside, Esther leaned upon her elbows and took a survey of Tothill Fields, where several groups of men ran hither and thither with cries, playing at bowls and football. In the distance a gray veil glimmered above the river, which, though invisible, could easily be traced. Behind the roofs of Chelsea Hospital undulated the verdant masses of Battersea Park. To the right, above the old clock tower of Kensington, the westering sun was sinking tranquilly to rest. A few yards away a band of gypsies had encamped for the night. The half-naked children played in the sun, while the women were hanging out their linen to dry. The old men, immovable as statues, crouched in the shade, smoked their pipes, keeping their eyes on their unharnessed horses, which browsed upon the sparse herbage. One of the gypsy women wandered near the terrace, and with a smile slowly approached Esther. Tall, well-built, with a flat, sun-burned face, glossy black hair, and bold, piercing eyes of a strange fixity of glance, and conspicuous by the utter absence of soul in their depths, she regarded Esther with a curious scrutiny. She leaned her back against the dry trunk of an old willow and balanced herself, not without a certain savage grace, which displayed her muscular limbs to advantage beneath the rags which covered them. "A fine day," said she, "for such as cherish love in their hearts." "Love! Nonsense!" sneered Esther. "She who speaks thus is generally caught in the toils." "Can you tell fortunes?" "Give me your hand and you shall see." "Oh, yes, I know you; you gypsies are all alike. For sixpence you announce the love of a city clerk; for a shilling, it is a gentleman; for half a crown, a lord; were one to give you a goldpiece, it would be a prince!" "What would you say," said the woman roughly, "were I to tell your fortune for nothing? Only beware: I shall tell it, good or bad!--Ah! you start. You _do_ believe!" "Here is my hand," said Esther, moved despite herself. But stretch and lengthen her arm as she would, her hand only reached the gypsy's eyes. "Wait!" she cried, and, running lightly round to a little postern gate, she threw it open, and found herself face to face with the stranger, who for some moments held the white, tapering fingers in her great, strong, brown hand. [Illustration] "Well?" "Your life-line is well marked, but it is crossed here." "Some danger?" "A great crisis."