"Don't talk rubbish, you old donkey! Mr. Lambert is only my friend."
"You're a woman and he's a man," said Mother Cockleshell sententiously.
"We are chums, pals, whatever you like to call us. I want to see him happy."
"He will never be happy, my lady, unless he marries the rani. And death, by bringing the money between their true love, has divided them forever, unless the golden rye puts his heart before his fear of silly chatter for them he moves amongst. The child was right to shoot Hearne, so far, although she could have waited and gained the same end. The rye is free to marry her, or to marry you, ma'am, but never to marry the angel, unless—" Mother Cockleshell adjusted the bundle carefully on the donkey, and then cut a long switch from the tree.
"I don't want to marry Mr. Lambert," said Miss Greeby decisively. "And I'll take care that Chaldea doesn't!"
Gentilla chuckled again. "Oh, trust you for that."
"As to Chaldea shooting Pine—"
"Leave it to me, leave it to me, ma'am," said the old gypsy with a grandiloquent wave of her dirty hand.
"But I wish to learn the truth and save Lady Agnes from this trouble."
"You wish to save her?" chuckled Mother Cockleshell. "And not the golden rye? Ah well, my angel, there are women, and women." She faced round, and the humor died out of her wrinkled face. "You wish for help and so have come to see me? Is it not so?"