I mentioned before, Mr. Hartley’s business was so engrossing, that from breakfast time we rarely saw him until he returned late to dinner. The evening was closing, and the chimes of St. Martin’s steeple warned us that we should resume our walk. The bench on which we had been sitting was directly in front of a clump of trees; and on moving a pace or two, we perceived, for the first time, that a tall and singular looking woman was standing immediately beside us, although until we had risen the shrubs effectually concealed her. Her figure and attitude were graceful, and the outline of the countenance fine--with a complexion so dark, and eyes so brilliant, that they at once betrayed a gipsy origin. She was past the middle age--but when a girl, she no doubt possessed the beauty for which that singular race are so remarkable. She regarded me with fixed attention; her eyes glancing slightly at my fair companion, and then settling upon mine with a stealthy expression of inquiry. We attempted to pass her, but she raised her arm, and signed that we should remain. “What do ye want, good woman?” I said, as I offered her some silver. “Not money,” was her reply, and she pushed back the hand I had extended. “I would speak with you, and speak with you alone.” “With me! You can have no business with a stranger”-- “With strangers I have none. With you I have important business,” returned the gipsy. “I am unknown to you, my friend.” She smiled incredulously, and then peering sharply at my face, she measured me with a glance from head to foot. “Yes, I could not be mistaken--the air, the height, the figure--all, all, are similar. The same firm step and haughty carriage; ay, and the eye and lip too are his; the rest, the softer features of his mother.” Isidora, startled at the wild attitude and address of the wanderer, clung closely to my arm for protection. The gipsy noticed it. “Lady, from me you have nothing to dread. I may not be able to serve you, and who would injure you? Give me your hand. Nay, fear not.” “Pshaw!” said I, “we have no faith in fortune-telling and I smiled. “That smile too is his father’s. Come, lady, let me but look one moment.” I pressed Isidora to comply with the gipsy’s request; and, with a smile, she presented her hand to the fortune-teller. The latter scanned the lines attentively, and then whispered something in my companion’s ear, but in a voice so low, that to me it was perfectly inaudible. Its effect upon Isidora was striking. In a moment a burning blush suffused her cheeks, and eyes, turned before upon the sybil in playful expectation, were instantly cast upon the ground. The wanderer smiled.