A strange cart pulled up opposite to them, drawn by a spiritless pony and bearing a black tin plate with the words: Hughes, Brecon, painted on it in a scrawl of white. A gipsy drove it, and behind, on the tilted cart-tail sat a withered, dirty woman and a girl of fifteen with a beautiful dark face and long, black hair, which the old woman was carefully and necessarily combing. To the tail of the cart a cowed and mangy mongrel of the greyhound breed was tied with a strand of rope. The eyes of the girl were dark and wild as those of an animal, and she stared insolently at Abner, half-smiling, attracted, no doubt, by the contrast of his fair strength. For some strange reason Mary felt that the girl’s glance hurt her. ‘She’s smiling at you. Don’t look at her, Abner!’ she whispered. ‘How dirty she is!’ The whisper disturbed the old woman, who ceased her hairdressing, wiped the comb on her apron and smiled across at Mary. She had no teeth but a single yellow tusk in the middle of her lower jaw. She leaned over the edge of the cart and held out her hand toward them. ‘Shall the old woman tell your fortune, my pretty dear?’ she whined. ‘You and your lovely children and your husband? A fine upstanding man, my dear, if ever there was one. Cross the old woman’s hand with a bit of silver and she’ll tell you the future as it’s written!’ Mary looked away. The gipsy girl continued to stare at Abner. ‘Ah, don’t you want to know the happiness that’s coming?’ the old woman went on, with her hand outstretched. ‘I tell you that’s worth more to you than a piece of silver. All that lays before you, my pretty dear. . . ’ Mary clutched at Abner’s arm. ‘Don’t look at her! She’s staring at you! I think we’d better go on,’ she whispered. But a cart had pulled in to the side in front of them, and they could not move. The old woman continued to pester them with her whinings. When she saw that no silver would cross her palm she changed her tone. She leaned further out of her cart, speaking now of ill-fortune rather than good, gratuitously prophesying evil, and a near evil at that. Abner bandied words with her and laughed, but Mary felt her heart sinking within her. From more maledictions they were saved by a sudden forward movement of the block. The cart started with a jerk which pulled the mongrel who had been biting at fleas on its belly, to its feet. The girl gave Abner a final, dark smile; the old woman spat in Mary’s direction. ‘Come on,’ said Abner, ‘now’s your chance!’ But Mary could not move. In some way the encounter had destroyed her nerve. ‘Let’s wait till it’s clearer!’ she pleaded.