“Don’t I know, my pretty? And isn’t Stephen Lee son to my own daughter’s child, and am I not his old mami? He won’t hurt me, never fear. Cross my hand with the bit of gold, and I’ll go.”
In order to rid herself of her, as it was now close on the dinner-hour at the Chase, Stella let her soft white hand be clutched within Sarah’s lean fingers, and stood watching, impatient, and yet a little interested in spite of herself, as the gypsy took a box of matches and a dirty end of candle from her pocket, and peered into her victim’s palm under the lightly falling rain.
“I see a prison, my deary, and a marriage forced upon you—marriage with a dark gentleman, who loves you, dear, and who is a great lord; but your heart is given to the fair man. I see starvation and a death, and only one way of help for you.”
She droned the words monotonously, as though some inner force were dictating them to her, doubtless a trick of her trade, but none the less impressive to an imaginative young girl.
“Go on!” whispered Stella. “And pray make haste. I must get home.”
“You must ask your own people to save you,” said the old woman, raising the forefinger of her right hand impressively. “Only the Romanys can help you. Trust no one else, and when despair comes, send this token to me—to old Sarah Carewe, that held you in her arms when you first opened your eyes on this wicked world.”
Suddenly blowing out the candle, she fumbled in her pocket, and then thrust into Stella’s hand what appeared to be a small silver coin strung on a piece of dirty red silk cord.
“When you want my help,” she said, “give this to Stephen Lee, and I will save you. You shall marry the man you love, and live a life of freedom and happiness, as a Romany doxy should; and the black lord and the gray wolf may go hang together. Good-night, my pretty. Beenship rat. And remember old Sarah!”
She waved her shrivelled hand in token of parting benediction, and slunk away among the trees with a swiftness astonishing in a woman of her years, leaving Stella, with her brain filled by bewildering questions and ideas, to make the best of her way to the house.
The first dinner-bell had already rung as she entered her room to dress for dinner. The lady’s maid, who attended both upon her and Lady Cranstoun, was full of comments upon her moist dress and boots.