She broke off with a glance of terror toward the road.
“I hear nothing,” said Olivia, half convinced the woman was mad. “Be quick, please, I—I cannot wait. Of what do you warn me?”
“Is it true that you are to marry Mr. Bradstone, miss?” she asked, earnestly.
Olivia inclined her head.
“Yes.”
“Then, for the love of Heaven, and while there’s time, draw back. You don’t know——”
“Stop,” said Olivia. “I cannot listen to you. Say what you have to say against him—for you have something to say—before him. I will not listen,” and she moved aside.
The woman caught her arm with a gesture of despairing imploration.
“Wait! wait! For your own sake, lady! For God’s sake, listen to me! There’s danger——” Olivia paused, and the gipsy, with a little catch in her voice, as if she were struggling for breath, hurried on: “If you don’t believe what I am going to tell you, if you think I’m lying, ask him, ask this Mr. Bradstone, if he knows——”
Her voice dropped, and Olivia, more moved than she knew, bent lower; but at that moment, before the woman could utter another word, a man’s voice, thick with drink, and threatening, rose from the other side of the gate: