And I declare that a feather might almost have knocked me down. There, amidst the trees of the coppice, like a picture framed round by green leaves, stood Ketira the gipsy. Or Ketira's ghost. Believing that she was dead and buried, I might have believed it to be the latter, but for the red cloth cloak: _that_ was real. She was staring at Hyde's house with all the fire of her glittering eyes, looking as though she were consumed by some inward fever. "Who lives there now?" she abruptly asked me without any other greeting, pointing her yellow forefinger at the house. "The cottage was empty ever so long," I carelessly said, some instinct prompting me not to tell too much. "Lately the workmen have been making alterations in it. How is Kettie? Have you found her?" She lifted her two hands aloft with a gesture of despair: but left me unanswered. "These alterations: by whom are they made?" But the sight of the Squire, coming forth alone, served as an excuse for my making off. I gave her a parting nod, saying I was glad to see her again in the land of the living. "Ketira the gipsy is here, sir." "No!" cried the pater in amazement. "Why do you say that, Johnny?" "She is here in the coppice." "Nonsense, lad! Ketira's dead, you know." "But I have just seen her, and spoken to her." "Then what did those gipsy-tramps mean by telling Abel Carew that she had died?" cried the Squire explosively, as he marched across the few yards of greensward towards the coppice. "Abel did not feel quite sure at the time that he and they were not talking of two persons. That must have been the case, sir." We were too late. Ketira was already half-way along the path that led to the common: no doubt on her road to pay a visit to Abel Carew. And I can only relate what passed there at second hand. Between ourselves, Ketira was no favourite of his. He was at his early dinner of bread-and-butter and salad when she walked in and astonished him. Abel, getting over his surprise, invited her to partake of the meal; but she just waved her hand in refusal, as much as to say that she was superior to dinner and dinner-eating. "Have you found Kettie?" was his next question. "It is the first time a search of mine ever failed," she replied, beginning to pace the little room in agitation, just as a tiger paces its confined cage. "I have given myself neither rest nor peace since I set out upon it; but it has not brought me tidings of my child." "It must have been a weary task for you, Ketira. I wish you would break bread with me." "I was helped." "Helped!" repeated Abel. "Helped by what?" "I know not yet, whether angel or devil. It has been one or the other:--according as he has, or has not, played me false." "As who has played you false?" "Of whom do you suppose I speak but _him_?" she retorted, standing to confront Abel with her deep eyes. "Hyde Stockhausen has in some subtle manner evaded me: but I shall find him yet."