“Oh, dear, no, the plan would not be feasible at all. These gipsies, you know, have free, proud blood, that would never brook a condition of servitude. Besides, I am always needing Gipsy myself. She has become, as it were, eyes and hands to my old age, and no one else could fill her place.” Every word she was uttering filled Lelia’s mind with dread and chagrin. This was what her mother had often predicted--that the cranky old maid might become fond of Gipsy, might even adopt her and make her an heiress. She ought to be got rid of somehow before such a fatal thing happened, complained Mrs. Ritchie. Lelia said to herself in dismay: “It has almost happened. The artful piece has already wormed herself into Aunt Cy’s heart, and the rest is apt to follow. We have let this thing run on too long without taking active steps to get her away from The Crags. There is a new danger for me, too. Laurie is deeply interested in her, more than he realizes in his foolish gratitude. For she really didn’t run any risk stopping those horses. She said they would obey her least word. Oh, what shall I do to rid myself of this interloper, who has crossed my path in so fatal a fashion?” Controlling her passionate anger with a strong effort of will, she exclaimed bitterly: “Grant me at least one favor, dear Aunt Cyrilla. Do not thrust this girl upon us, expecting us to treat her as an equal, or show her any kindness.” Miss Willoughby was plainly nettled at her niece’s lofty tone, and she said with asperity: “I should indeed be stupid to think it of you, Lelia, knowing all your pride, and how cruelly you treated the poor little tot in her childhood; besides acting ungratefully toward her now, after she has saved your life!” “Oh, Aunt Cy, this from you, when I have not visited you before for five years! Oh, I am sorry I came! I will go back to mama to-morrow!” sobbed Lelia, in commingled rage and grief. “You will do nothing of the kind, my dear child. You are silly and overwrought, and nursing a foolish jealousy of Gipsy Darke to-day, but by to-morrow you will feel better, and own yourself ashamed of this childish outbreak of spleen. I am not going to thrust poor Gipsy upon either you or Laurie, and you will scarcely know she is at The Crags, for she has her work to do, and at other times is mostly out in the open air.” “Gipsylike!” sneered Lelia. “Yes, if you wish to call it that,” Miss Willoughby returned dryly, adding, with patient kindness: “I hope you will get over this little spell soon, Lelia, and enjoy your visit to The Crags; for, together with our nearest neighbors, I have planned many pleasant things for you and Laurie. We will have a house-party of ten, including yourselves, and no pains will be spared to contribute to your daily pleasure and entertainment.” CHAPTER V. POOR, UNLOVED GIPSY, THE WAIF.