"Then you pretend to be a sorceress?" "I pretend to be nothing but your friend. Sir Reginald Eversleigh has been your foe ever since the day which disinherited him and made you rich. Your death would make him master of the wealth which you now enjoy; your death would give him fortune, position in the world--all which he most covets. Can you doubt, therefore, that he wishes your death?" "I cannot believe it!" cried Lionel Dale; "it is too horrible. What! he, my first cousin! he can profess for me the warmest friendship, and yet can wish to profit by my death!" "He can do worse than that," said the gipsy woman, in an impressive voice; "he can try to compass your death!" "No! no! no!" cried the rector. "It is not possible!" "It is true. Sir Reginald Eversleigh is a coward; but he is helped by one who knows no human weakness--whose cruel heart was never softened by one touch of pity--whose iron hand never falters. Sir Reginald Eversleigh is little more than the tool of that man, and between those two there is ruin for you." "Your words have the accent of truth," said the rector, after a long pause; "and yet their meaning is so terrible that I can scarcely bring myself to believe in them. How is it that you, a stranger, are so familiar with the private details of my life?" "Do not ask me that, Mr. Dale," replied the gipsy woman, sternly; "when a stranger comes to you to warn you of a great danger, accept the warning, and let your nameless friend depart unquestioned. I have told you that an unseen danger menaces you. I know not yet the exact form which that danger may take. To-morrow I expect to know more." "I can pledge myself to nothing." "As you will," answered the gipsy, proudly. "I have done my duty. The rest is with Providence. If in your blind obstinacy you disregard my warning, I cannot help it. Will you, for your own sake, not for mine, let me see you to-morrow; or will you promise to see anyone who shall ask to see you, in the name of the gipsy woman who was here to-night? Promise me this, I entreat you. I have nothing to ask of you, nothing to gain by my prayer; but I do entreat you most earnestly to do this thing. I am working in the dark to a certain extent. I know something, but not all, and I may have learned much more by to-morrow. I may bring or send you information then, which will convince you I am speaking the truth. Stay, will you promise me this, for my sake, for the sake of justice? You will, Mr. Dale, I know you will; you are a just, a good man. You suspect me of practising upon you a vulgar imposition. To-morrow I may have the power of convincing you that I have not done so. You will give me the opportunity, Mr. Dale?"