"There is no honour, no justice, no love, in this world!" she cried in a fierce voice. "Those who say there are such things lie. Who knows that better than I? To be tricked and betrayed and rendered unhappy--that is the lot of women. There is no hope for me--no escape. As I sowed, so have I reaped; and plentiful--plentiful has been the harvest of my sins. Child, child! go not near this man. Avoid him as you would a viper. If you neglect my warning----"
She raised her hands in menace and looked at the girl. Something in Meg's face arrested the fury of her passion, and, letting her arms fall, she returned to her chair. It was not her duty to give Meg to eat of the tree of knowledge, and she abruptly stopped those confessions which hinted at sin and punishment.
"Don't heed me, child--don't heed me," she said feverishly. "I talk at random. Bring this man here and let me see him. I will then be able to tell you if he is as you think. But I doubt it--I doubt it."
"Will you see him, Miss Linisfarne?"
"No, no! Bring him to this gallery. I dare not speak to him face to face, but view him from a distance. That will be sufficient for me! I love you, Meg, as though you were my own child, and would not have your heart tortured as mine has been. There, there! Go, child--go! Leave me here; I wish to be alone."
Meg bent over her for a moment and kissed her cold forehead, then flitted rapidly away in obedience to the order. When her footsteps died away, Miss Linisfarne lifted her haggard face, and, clinging to the wall, advanced a few steps to where a mirror was placed. This gave back the reflection of a pale face, grey hair, and eyes filled with anguish. At the sight a moan escaped from her lips.
"Oh, my lost beauty!" she sobbed; "oh, my lost beauty!"
[CHAPTER XIII.]
UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.
If Dan was disposed to envy the open-air life of the Romany, he certainly felt that there were drawbacks to such an existence. This other view of the question impressed itself forcibly on his mind as he sat in Mother Jericho's tent and heard the rain drumming on the roof. It was a rainy night, and the gipsies were all under shelter, though their wretched tents afforded but a poor protection against the rain. Through the chinks of the canvas the water persistently dripped, and formed little puddles on the floor. Mother Jericho, desirous of warmth, had lighted a fire at the door of her abode, and this filled the tent with acrid smoke. The flap at the entrance was fastened back to do away with this nuisance, but the entering wind drove the smoke inward, and made the inmates cough and rub their smarting eyes.