“Put it, then,” said Archer, “what hinders you?” “But they will hear me,” said he, looking suspiciously at De Grey. “_I_ shall not hear you,” said De Grey, “I am going.” Everybody else drew back, and left him to whisper his question in the gipsy’s ear. “What is become of my Livy?” “Your _sister_ Livy, do you mean?” said the gipsy. “No, my _Latin_ Livy.” The gipsy paused for information. “It had a leaf torn out in the beginning, and _I hate Dr. Middleton_—” “Written in it,” interrupted the gipsy. “Right—the very book!” cried Fisher with joy. “But how _could_ you know it was Dr. Middleton’s name? I thought I had scratched it, so that nobody could make it out.” “Nobody _could_ make it out but _me_,” replied the gipsy. “But never think to deceive me,” said she, shaking her head at him in a manner that made him tremble. “I don’t deceive you indeed, I tell you the whole truth. I lost it a week ago.” “True.” “And when shall I find it?” “Meet me here at this hour to-morrow evening, and I will answer you. No more! I must be gone. Not a word more to-night.” She pulled the shutters towards her, and left the youth in darkness. All his companions were gone. He had been so deeply engaged in this conference, that he had not perceived their departure. He found all the world at supper, but no entreaties could prevail upon him to disclose his secret. Townsend rallied in vain. As for Archer, he was not disposed to destroy by ridicule the effect which he saw that the old woman’s predictions in his favour had had upon the imagination of many of his little partisans. He had privately slipped two good shillings into the gipsy’s hand to secure her; for he was willing to pay any price for _any_ means of acquiring power. The watch-chain had not deceived the gipsy, for Archer was the richest person in the community. His friends had imprudently supplied him with more money than is usually trusted to boys of his age. Dr. Middleton had refused to give him a larger monthly allowance than the rest of his companions; but he brought to school with him secretly the sum of five guineas. This appeared to his friends and to himself an inexhaustible treasure. Riches and talents would, he flattered himself, secure to him that ascendancy of which he was so ambitious. “Am I your manager, or not?” was now his question. “I scorn to take advantage of a hasty moment; but since last night you have had time to consider. If you desire me to be your manager, you shall see what a theatre I will make for you. In this purse,” said he, showing through the network a glimpse of the shining treasure—“in this purse is Aladdin’s wonderful lamp. Am I your manager? Put it to the vote.”