"But not your way," she added. "I go into the wood and vanish. You know, Nanny, I live up a tree." "Dinna say that," said Nanny, anxiously, "or I'll be fleid about the siller." "Don't fear about it. Mr. Dishart will get some of it to-morrow at the Kaims. I would bring it here, but I cannot come so far to-morrow." [Illustration: "I HAVE READ MY FORTUNE."] "Then I'll hae peace to the end o' my days," said the old woman, "and, Babbie, I wish the same to you wi' all my heart." "Ah," Babbie replied, mournfully, "I have read my fortune, Nanny, and there is not much happiness in it." "I hope that is not true," Gavin said, simply. They were standing at the door, and she was looking toward the hill, perhaps without seeing it. All at once it came to Gavin that this fragile girl might have a history far sadder and more turbulent than his. "Do you really care?" she asked, without looking at him. "Yes," he said stoutly, "I care." "Because you do not know me," she said. "Because I do know you," he answered. Now she did look at him. "I believe," she said, making a discovery, "that you misunderstand me less than those who have known me longer." This was a perilous confidence, for it at once made Gavin say "Babbie." "Ah," she answered, frankly, "I am glad to hear that. I thought you did not really like me, because you never called me by my name." Gavin drew a great breath. "That was not the reason," he said. The reason was now unmistakable. "I was wrong," said the Egyptian, a little alarmed; "you do not understand me at all." She returned to Nanny, and Gavin set off, holding his head high, his brain in a whirl. Five minutes afterwards, when Nanny was at the fire, the diamond ring on her little finger, he came back, looking like one who had just seen sudden death. "I had forgotten," he said, with a fierceness aimed at himself, "that to-morrow is the Sabbath." "Need that make any difference?" asked the gypsy. "At this hour on Monday," said Gavin, hoarsely, "I will be at the Kaims." He went away without another word, and Babbie watched him from the window. Nanny had not looked up from the ring. "What a pity he is a minister!" the girl said, reflectively. "Nanny, you are not listening." The old woman was making the ring flash by the light of the fire. "Nanny, do you hear me? Did you see Mr. Dishart come back?" "I heard the door open," Nanny answered, without taking her greedy eyes off the ring. "Was it him? Whaur did you get this, lassie?" "Give it me back, Nanny, I am going now." But Nanny did not give it back; she put her other hand over it to guard it, and there she crouched, warming herself not at the fire, but at the ring. "Give it me, Nanny." "It winna come off my finger." She gloated over it, nursed it, kissed it. "I must have it, Nanny." The Egyptian put her hand lightly on the old woman's shoulder, and Nanny jumped up, pressing the ring to her bosom. Her face had become cunning and ugly; she retreated into a corner.