"No! no! no! Ursula!" she said, clinging to the other girl, not daring to look up at the awesome figure of the lean magician. "I implore you, give up the thought."
"Give up the thought?" rejoined Ursula, boldly trying to smother her own superstitious fears, "when I've gone thus far?"
"I cannot think what you want with that horrid witch!" pleaded Margaret.
At sight of Abra's long white beard, his wizard's wand, and cloak covered with cabalistic signs, even Ursula's courage had begun to ebb. She had hastily retreated from the steps and followed Margaret once more within the protecting shelter of the shadows.
"I want to know my fortune, Margaret mine," she said in a voice which was not quite as firm as before, "and I hear that this witch can see into the future. 'Tis said that she has marvellous powers."
"Why should you want to know the future?" persisted timid, practical Margaret; "is not the present good enough for you?"
"His Grace of Wessex comes back to Court to-day," rejoined Ursula, "after an absence of many months."
"Well?—what of him?"
"What of him? . . . Margaret, art stupid, or art not my friend? . . . Is it not natural that I should wish to know whether I am to be Duchess of Wessex or abbess in a holy but uncomfortable convent?"
"Yes, 'tis natural enough," assented Margaret thoughtfully, "but——"