Publisher's Synopsis
"'The lef' han', dearie, an' gowld for th' charm. Aye! a bewtiful han' for a bewtiful maid. I 'udn't rade false for--eh, dear life, what is't? Th' lines goo criss an' crass. Duvel! I be mortal feared to tell 'ee. Take tha han'. Gran hes nought to spake for sich a mayden." As she said the last word, a startled look came into the glazed eyes of the old gipsy; and with a quick gesture she flung back the hand she had been holding. The pretty, fair-haired girl who was having her fortune told laughed nervously, and shot an anxious glance at the young man who stood near her. He was tall and dark and masterful; also he was in love with the girl, as could be seen from the tenderness in his eyes and the smile on his lips. But as the sibyl spoke, as the girl started, he changed the smile to a frown, and caught the woman roughly by the arm. She was on the point of hobbling away; but, on feeling the man's grip, she turned doggedly to face him. With her rags and wrinkles, red cloak, and Oriental countenance, she looked like the Witch of Endor--at bay.
