Vi hesitated. “Is it so terrible?” she whispered. “Not terrible as we gipsies reckon it; but sweet and dangerous and reckless, and it ends in----” “Lilith.” I caught her by the wrist. She shot upright and faced me. “Don’t you know me? I’m Dante--Dante Cardover.” Vi had sunk upon her knees and stared up at us, steadying herself with her hands. The old hag gazed angrily from behind Lilith, stretching out her long thin neck. “I remember you, brother,” said Lilith. “You are one of us. I knew that one day you would hear us calling.” “Wot did ’ee see in the lady’s ’and?” The fortune-teller laid a skinny claw on Lilith’s shoulder; her voice quavered with eagerness. “I will not tell,” said Lilith. “Did ’ee see----?” Lilith clapped her hand over the woman’s mouth. “You shan’t tell, grannie,” she said; “it’s not good to tell.” Down the field-track came the creaking sound of wheels. I looked up and saw through the poplars the swinging lanterns of a caravan. Vi touched me on the arm. She was unnerved and trembling. “Take me home, Dante.” I turned to Lilith. “Who is that?” “G’liath.” “Where’ll you be camping to-morrow? At Woadley Ham?” A cloud passed over her face. “We never camp there, now.” The crone broke in with a spiteful titter: “But we used ter, until she wouldn’t let us.” Lilith spoke hastily. “We’re going to Yarminster Fair. We get there to-morrow.” “Then I’ll see you there,” I told her. The caravan had come to a halt. I could see the tall form of G’liath moving about the horses. I did not want to meet him just then. Skirting the encampment, we hurried off across fields to the highroad. A sleepy irritable landlady opened the door to Vi. By the time I had walked down the High Street to the shop, it was nearly midnight. Ruthita was sitting up for me; my grandmother had been in bed two hours. She eyed me curiously. “You had a long walk,” she said. “Yes, longer than we expected.” I spoke brusquely. I was afraid she would question me. At the top of the stairs, just as I was entering my room, she stole near to me. “Dante, ar’n’t you going to kiss me good-night?” I was bending perfunctorily over her lifted face, when I saw by the light of the candle in my hand that her eyes were red. “Ruthie, you little goose, you’ve been crying. What’ve you been crying about?” “I’ve not,” she denied indignantly, and broke from me. After she had entered her room I tiptoed down the passage and listened outside her door. In the stillness of the house I could hear her sobbing. CHAPTER VIII--THE WAY OF ALL FLESH For good luck’s sake smile, Ruthita,” said my grandmother. “There you’ve sat all through breakfast lookin’ like a week o’ Sundays, with your face as long as a yard o’ pump water. What’s the matter with you, child? Ain’t you well?” I saw the brightness come into Ruthita’s eyes and the lashes tremble. I knew by the signs that directly she heard her own voice she would begin to cry, so I answered for her.