CHAPTER VII

THE GIPSY’S PROPHECY

PEOPLE at a pic-nic seldom amalgamate well until after dinner. There is generally caution and mistrust until confidence is promoted by a few glasses of wine. Thus it was on the present occasion. The guests kept to their respective coteries, seemingly more intent upon asking, “Who was who,” than desirous of making “Who’s” acquaintance. So, as each looming lady emerged from her shake out, she made up to the matron who had charge of her movements. They then trooped off on their respective trips, some down the lovers’-walk, some up to the haunted glen, others to the dropping well at Dewhurst. Most of them had seen the Priory with its crypt and octagonal pillars, its famous old windows and winding staircase, while the now canvas-roofed refectory was to be the dining-room on the present occasion. Very little sight-seeing serves parties at a pic-nic. Though so light and airy, they are generally bent on the more serious business of life.

Our fair heroine, though she had the graceful feminine art of accommodating her likings to her company, preferred a stroll among the large trees to a squeeze up the narrow stone staircase, or a dive down below; a choice that was highly approved of by Mamma as better both for her daughter’s complexion, as for preserving the freshness of her piquant little black hat set off with a light blue feather, and the glorious amplitude of her white muslin dress, enriched with ribbons to match the feather. We often think it fortunate for the Hottentot Venus that she lived when she did, for she would never have made anything by showing herself now-a-days. Well, our fair friend and Mamma having evaded Mrs. Trattles as she went to greet some fresh arrivers, proceeded to perambulate together, Mamma relying upon the never-failing attraction of beauty for procuring her daughter partners at the proper time. So they lionised themselves, peeping up this walk and down that, more intent upon killing time than adding to their stock of topographical knowledge. As they sauntered along in the cool shade formed by the over-hanging branches of the limes, a something rustled on the left, and presently the swarthy red-shawled gipsy stood with distended arms before them. Mamma and daughter uttered a faint shriek and started back.

“Nay, don’t be frightened!” exclaimed the gipsy, soothingly—“don’t be frightened! Bless your beautiful face, my lovely young lady!” continued she, addressing our heroine. “If ever there was a babe born to rank and riches it is your own sweet iligant self.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” muttered Mrs. McDermott— “stuff and nonsense,” motioning her aside with her blue parasol.

“Nay, don’t say that,” replied the gipsy, softly— “don’t say that, my lady. I’ve ruled the planets these twenty years, and never yet told wrong; cross my palm with a bit of silver, my dear lady mam, and I’ll tell you who you’ll marry—step aside here, step aside,” continued she, motioning them off the walk.

“No, my good woman,” replied Mrs. McDermott, pursuing her course; “we don’t believe in any such nonsense; but see, there’s a shilling for you,” producing one from her purse as she spoke, “and now let us hear what you have to say.”

The gipsy pocketed the money, and scrutinised our young friend with her piercing black eyes.

“You’ve not yet seen the man you’ll marry,” said she, slowly and deliberately.

“Indeed!” blushed Rosa, thinking of our friend in the country.

“But you’ll see him to-day,” added the gipsy, archly.

“And what will he be like?” asked Mrs. McDermott.

“Like!” exclaimed the gipsy. “He’ll be the handsomest man here—tall, with raven hair, and eagle eyes, and money beyond measure.”

“Indeed!” laughed Mrs. McDermott, and just at that moment some more migratory balloons appearing in the distance, the gipsy rushed off to invest them with husbands also—assigning dark to the fair, fair to the dark, tall to the short, and so on. And Miss and Mamma sauntered back to the Priory, inwardly wondering what would come of their own particular prophecy.