"Oh! oh! oh!" she ejaculated, mimicking her friend's tones of horror. "Oh!" she added with mock seriousness, "well, then, of course, there would be trouble, Margaret mine! . . . sweet Margaret! . . . such a lecture! . . . and oh! oh! oh! such black looks from Her Majesty! . . . we should e'en--think on it!--have to look demure for at least two days, until our sins be forgiven us! . . ." She paused awhile, mischief apparent even beneath the half-transparent lace which hid her laughter-loving mouth. She drew her trembling companion closer to her, and, still laughing, she coaxed her gently. "There, there, sweet," she murmured, "cheer up, I pray thee, cheer up. . . . See, we have come to the end of our journey. We have baffled those persistent gallants, and this is the witch's tent. Margaret!" she added with an impatient tap of the foot, "art a goose to go on crying so? I vow I'd have come alone had I known thou'rt such a coward." "Ursula!" said Margaret, somewhat emboldened by her friend's assurance, "could you guess who were those two gallants?" "Nay," replied Ursula indifferently, "one of them, methinks, was the Marquis de Suarez, for I caught sight of his black silk hose, but what do we care about these nincompoops, Margaret? Come and see the witch--we have no time to lose." Eagerly she turned towards the booth, and somewhat awed, anxious, yet not wholly daring, she gazed up in astonishment at the gaudy draperies, the tall flagstaff, the weird black flag with its strange device. Then with sudden resolution she planted her foot upon the bottom step. "Wilt follow me, sweet?" she asked. Even as she spoke Abra, in tall peaked cap and flowing mantle, emerged from within the tent. Margaret, who was screwing up her courage to follow her friend, gave a shriek of dismay. "No! no! no! Ursula!" she said, clinging to the other girl, not daring to look up at the awesome figure of the lean magician. "I implore you, give up the thought." "Give up the thought?" rejoined Ursula, boldly trying to smother her own superstitious fears, "when I've gone thus far?" "I cannot think what you want with that horrid witch!" pleaded Margaret. At sight of Abra's long white beard, his wizard's wand, and cloak covered with cabalistic signs, even Ursula's courage had begun to ebb. She had hastily retreated from the steps and followed Margaret once more within the protecting shelter of the shadows. "I want to know my fortune, Margaret mine," she said in a voice which was not quite as firm as before, "and I hear that this witch can see into the future. 'Tis said that she has marvellous powers." "Why should you want to know the future?" persisted timid, practical Margaret; "is not the present good enough for you?" "His Grace of Wessex comes back to Court to-day," rejoined Ursula, "after an absence of many months." "Well?--what of him?"