“I remember well,” said the woman. “I drank from it on the day when I promised I would marry my husband, and I drank from it once again when I wished the gipsy God-speed, and soon after that, my husband left me, for I could not bear to have him near me.” Then the gipsy cried out aloud, and said something in a language which the woman did not understand, and beat her hands. “I think it was my husband,” she said. “Alack a day! to-morrow night I shall die, and who will take care of my little boy, and see that he does not starve? for his father would beat and ill-treat him if he found him.” Then the potter’s wife kneeled down beside the gipsy woman, and kissed her on the forehead. “Be at peace,” she said. “If it be that you must die, die with a quiet heart, for I will keep your little boy. What is enough for two is enough for three, and he shall call my little girl sister and me mother.” The gipsy said nothing, but she looked at the potter’s wife for long, and then she said, “And my clothes are all in rags, and I have no garment in which you can wrap me for my grave.” Then the potter’s wife began to cry. “Be at peace,” she said, “for I have a fine cloth made of flax and my own hair, and in it you can lie clad like a princess.” Then again the gipsy woman cried out words that the potter’s wife did not understand, and again she beat her breast and lamented. But as evening drew nigh she turned to the potter’s wife, and told her all the truth about the charms in the cup, and wept for the evil she had done her, who was so good and kind. The potter’s wife sat by her all that day, and into the dark hours of the night, but when it was drawing nigh to twelve o’clock the gipsy woman sat up, and stretched out her arms. “The wheel,” she cried, “bring me your husband’s wheel, and give me a piece of clay, that while there is yet time I may throw my last cup, and you may drink from it before the dawn and undo the harm I have worked.” The potter’s wife wondered much, but she feared to disobey her, and she went out into her husband’s workshop, and she brought in his wheel and a piece of clay which stood there, and placed them beside the gipsy. The gipsy was so weak that she could scarcely sit up, but when she saw the wheel she staggered to her feet, and took the clay in her thin little brown hands, and moulded it as she had done years before; and then she set it on the wheel, and set the wheel spinning, and formed it into a little brown bowl, and bent her head over it, and whispered into it. “Now drink,” she cried, “although the clay is still wet. Pour water into it and drink from my little bowl, and wish me God-speed as you did to my husband. And then dress me in white and gold like a princess, for I must start upon my journey. But keep my little boy always, and if my husband comes to search for me, give him my ring, but tell him that he shall never find me more.”