The Rainbow Feather

"'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.

"Not so fast, gran!" said the young man, severely. "Miss Lester has given you a shilling, so you must earn it by telling her fortune--if you can," he added, in a scoffing tone, which savoured of scepticism.

"Ef I can!" repeated gran, looking contemptuously from under bushy gray eyebrows. "Eh, young gentl'man, that han' be asy raidin' tu I. But fur all this," she waved her stick round the gorse-besprinkled common upon which they were standing--"for all that"--she pointed towards the blue arch of the July sky--"I w'uldn't freeze th' blood o' this gude maid."

"How you do go on, Mother Jimboy!" giggled the girl, with an affectation of carelessness. "I don't believe a bit in hand-reading; I'm sure I don't, so there! I know my own fortune well. Don't I, Mr. Lovel?" and again she shot a glance at the young man--this time a coquettish one.

"Of course," he assented, with a smile; "and I know mine."

"An' I know both o' mum!" cried Mrs. Jimboy, striking her stick on the ground. "Hee! hee! 'tis gran as cud fright the smile from they pretty faces, I du say. Haw be young squire, Miss Milly?"

"Insolent!" muttered Lovel, wrathfully. "Hold your tongue, you old hag, and tell Miss Lester's fortune at once!"

"I's feared for sure, dearies both; I's mortal feared."

"You silly old witch!" said Milly, with scornful bravery. "I'm not. I shall know what is in my hand; though I shan't believe a single word you say."

"Tis as ye plase, miss; belave or not, 'tis all one. But the skein will run till 'tis clipped for all that!"

"What do you mean by this jargon?" cried Lovel, still furious at the late illusion to the squire. "Speak plainly, or I'll hand you over to the police as an impostor!"

The last word touched the old dame nearly, and she reared up her bent frame to point a crooked finger at Lovel; but she spoke generally to the one and the other.

"Imposter, am I? Hee! hee! An you don't belave, Miss Milly? Hee! hee! I'll spare ye no more! Gimme th' han', dear soul alive, give th' han'; and if ye weep blood fur the tellings o' mum--well, I warned ye, I warned ye!"

Milly stamped a dainty foot, and held out a dainty hand to be seized by gran's brown claws.

"Do your worst!" said she petulantly. "I'm sure I shan't believe a single nasty thing you tell me!"