“Well, then, it’s Olivia’s turn,” said Annie. “Now, Olivia, you must, you must have your fortune told.” Olivia smiled, and held out her hand promptly. “Don’t prophesy anything very dreadful, please,” she said. The woman crossed her long, shapely hand and peered at it; then she slowly let the hand drop. “Is there any other gentleman or lady would like their fortune told?” she said. “Oh, but that isn’t fair!” exclaimed Annie Penstone. “You must tell this lady’s, you know.” The woman glanced at her, then at Olivia. “Am I to tell it, miss?” she said. Olivia smiled. “Of course,” she said. “Why not?” The woman took her hand, and looked into her eyes, just as a short-sighted person might have done; then she glanced behind her at the spot where the man stood in an attitude of perfect repose and self-possession, his dark eyes fixed upon Bartley Bradstone. “Shall I tell this pretty lady her fortune, Seth----” The man nodded, and the woman in a low voice said: “There are lines of much sorrow, miss, and much doubt. You will mate with a man you do not love, and love a man you do not mate. But in the end----” She stopped short, and, dropping Olivia’s hand, bent over one of the children. Olivia smiled her calm, sweet smile. “It is your turn now,” she said to Bertie; but Bertie, with affected horror and awe, shook his head. “Your experience is enough for me,” he said. “That will do,” said Bartley Bradstone, and he flung a coin toward the group. “Clear off now.” The woman darted at the coin, but as her hand closed over it she said: “Let me tell this gentleman his fortune.” “Oh, do! oh, come, Mr. Bradstone!” exclaimed the two Penstone girls in chorus. “In common fairness----” “Oh, I’m quite ready,” said Bartley Bradstone, but with anything but alacrity; and, leaning on his elbow, he extended his right hand reluctantly. “The left, if you please, gentleman,” said the woman. “You are mighty particular,” he said, with an uneasy laugh, and he shifted his position, and gave her the left hand. As he did so the man took a step forward, and whispered something in the woman’s ear. Her face did not change from its impassibility, but she bent lower over Bartley Bradstone’s hand, and amidst the almost solemn silence she said in the dreamy voice she had adopted in the former cases: “It is a fair hand, a clever hand; but there are lines that trouble the poor gypsy. Lines of the past, and the coming future. Beware of the woman with the black eyes and the cut lip.” Bartley Bradstone changed color, and snatched his hand away. “That will do,” he said. “Don’t bother us with anymore, but take yourselves off. And look here; I don’t allow gypsies to settle or squat, or whatever you call it, upon my land.” The woman tied the coins she had received in the corner of her apron with deliberate composure, then, dropping a curtsey, followed the man, who had already struck into the thick undergrowth.