"Hush, for mercy's sake, my dear child!" whispered Anne. "You don't know who may be listening to you. There! Did you hear that?" she added, starting, as a strange sound, something like a laugh, was heard over their heads. Lucy looked up. "It is the carrion crow. Don't you see him up on the dead tree yonder?" "The corby! Oh, my lady, what will become of us? They say he is always a messenger of ill." "Ill or well, I will not come here again nor will I give that woman any more of my dear mother's things. Come, Anne; put me on the donkey, and let us go home." Anne obeyed, wondering what had come over her young lady. She would have gone on talking about the corby; but Lucy stopped her. "Don't,—please, Anne. I want to think about something." Presently they met Dr. Burgess, striding along the path, with a stick in his hand, and humming a psalm-tune. "Heyday, whom have we here? My little Lady Lucy, as I am alive! And what are you doing in this lonely place, my love?" "My lady came out for a ride, and wished to see the spring," Anne replied, readily enough. "Ay, 'tis a curious solitary place: is it not, my dear? There are many such in these Devonshire coombs; and some day, if Mrs. Corbet will kindly give us permission, I will take you and my own girls to see a very beautiful spring in Ferncoomb, where there are the remains of an ancient chapel and hermitage. 'Tis a treat I have long promised to Polly and Dulcie. Meantime, Lady Lucy, I would advise you to take your rides and walks in more frequented places. These gipsies are a lawless gang, and I would not have you encounter them. They are making mischief in the parish, stealing fowls and fruit, and turning the girls' heads with their fortune-telling nonsense. I hear they have fooled Dame Shearer out of a good round sum, pretending to tell her where the money is her husband lost coming from the fair." "Do you not think, then, that they can tell where it is?" Lucy gathered courage to ask. "I think it not unlikely they may know where it is, but I doubt very much whether they will ever tell her," answered Dr. Burgess, drily. He was silent for a few moments, and then asked Lucy if she had heard from her father since his departure. Lucy told him she had just received a letter, and repeated what her father had said, in respect to the probability of a great battle. "You will doubtless feel very anxious till you can hear again," said the doctor, kindly: "but, my dear child, strive to put your trust in God and rely upon his mercy and goodness. Doubtless you pray for your father every day, and we at the parsonage will add our petitions to yours." "Dr. Burgess," said Lucy, presently, in a low voice, and raising her eyes timidly to the face of the good clergyman. "Well, my daughter." "Will you please to explain something to me?" "Surely, surely, my daughter. I shall be glad to do so."