“Nay, lady,” she said, “take not what I have told you as any proof of skill; a boy who saw half what I did unperceived would readily have guessed that secret. One look more. Your love will end prosperously; but the time is hidden from me. Trials and disappointments interfere, but prudence and patience will overcome them. May you be happy! It would be, in sooth, a pity if sorrow should dim so sweet an eye, or cloud a brow so beautiful. And now, to see what fate designs for you, sir.” The kindly tone of voice in which she conveyed her wishes for Isidora’s happiness of course had its full influence on me, and I freely presented the hand she desired--but still a sceptic smile accompanied the offer, and showed that in palmistry I was an unbeliever. She affected not to notice it, but proceeded with her mystic examination. “Well,” I said, laughing, “what has fortune in reserve for me?” “Much that I can see, and more that is wrapped in mystery.” “Proceed.” “I see present danger, followed by perilous adventure. The end, however, looks happy.” “The danger,” I exclaimed; “whence and from whom?” “The source I see; the time’s uncertain.” “Pshaw! this is mere folly--some proof. Give me this, or I shall say your art is all speculation on the common results of life, and founded on chance of circumstances.” “Ask, and I’ll answer you.” “My name?” I inquired. “Hector O’Halloran.” “Well, I was not aware you knew me. That knowledge is easily acquired. My profession?” “Your father’s. Am I right?” I bowed. “What else do you require from me?” said the woman. Isidora had turned pale; for the readiness with which each question had been answered, seemed to infer that the gipsy really possessed the intelligence she boasted. “Come,” I said, “one question more, and that if answered shall make me a true believer;--tell me my age!” “Well--let me think a moment,” she returned, and placing her open hand across her forehead, she seemed for a few moments to tax her memory, as if engaged in mental calculations. “Ay, that was the year,” she muttered; then, turning to me, she coolly answered, “On Thursday next you will be twenty.” She paused; and the surprise visible on my countenance announced to Isidora that the answer was correct. “And now, one word before we part;” and she laid her hand upon my shoulder--“Hector O’Halloran, beware! or your twentieth birthday will be as bloody as your first.---- Before we part, give me one promise.” “Name it,” I replied. “When I require you to meet me--when a writing with these marks attached to it, shall be placed within your hand”--and she gave me a scroll--“will you obey the order?” I answered boldly in the affirmative. “‘Tis well. Though my summons come in storm, and darkness, and at midnight, as you value life, obey it. Though beauty smiles, and music charms, leave all when that mystic signature is presented.”