"Blood money. The taint of blood is on the wealth of the dead one, and so it divides by a curse the true hearts of the living. You see, my lady?" Miss Greeby did see, and the more readily, since she had heard Lambert express exactly the sentiments with which the old gypsy credited him. An overstrained feeling of honor prevented him in any case from making Agnes his wife, whether the death had come by violence or by natural causes. But it was amazing that Gentilla should know this, and Miss Greeby wonderingly asked her how she came by such knowledge. The respectable widow chuckled. "I have witchly ways, ma'am, and the golden rye has talked many a time to me in my tent, when I told him of the Gorgious lady's goodness to me when ill. They love--aye, that is sure--but the money divides their hearts, and that is foolish. Chaldea had no need to shoot to keep them apart." "How do you know she shot Pine?" "Oh, I can say nothing the Poknees would listen to," said Mother Cockleshell readily. "For I speak only as I think, and not as I know. But the child was impatient for joy, and hoped by placing the cruel will between true hearts to gain that of the golden rye for her own part. But that she will not. Ha! Ha! Nor you, my lady, nor you." "Me?" Miss Greeby colored even redder than she was by nature. Gentilla looked at her shrewdly. "La! La! La! La!" she croaked. "Age brings a mighty wisdom. They were fools to throw me out," and she jerked her grizzled head in the direction of the caravans and tents. "Don't talk rubbish, you old donkey! Mr. Lambert is only my friend." "You're a woman and he's a man," said Mother Cockleshell sententiously. "We are chums, pals, whatever you like to call us. I want to see him happy." "He will never be happy, my lady, unless he marries the rani. And death, by bringing the money between their true love, has divided them forever, unless the golden rye puts his heart before his fear of silly chatter for them he moves amongst. The child was right to shoot Hearne, so far, although she could have waited and gained the same end. The rye is free to marry her, or to marry you, ma'am, but never to marry the angel, unless--" Mother Cockleshell adjusted the bundle carefully on the donkey, and then cut a long switch from the tree. "I don't want to marry Mr. Lambert," said Miss Greeby decisively. "And I'll take care that Chaldea doesn't!" Gentilla chuckled again. "Oh, trust you for that." "As to Chaldea shooting Pine--" "Leave it to me, leave it to me, ma'am," said the old gypsy with a grandiloquent wave of her dirty hand. "But I wish to learn the truth and save Lady Agnes from this trouble." "You wish to save her?" chuckled Mother Cockleshell. "And not the golden rye? Ah well, my angel, there are women, and women." She faced round, and the humor died out of her wrinkled face. "You wish for help and so have come to see me? Is it not so?" "Yes," said Miss Greeby tartly. "Chaldea will make trouble."