“I saw you in a dream,” she said. “And I know you will show your hand; and I know I have things to tell you, both good and bad.”
“Well, well!” said Mr. Leeson, “here is sixpence. Tell me your gibberish, and then go.”
The gipsy looked twice at the coin.
“It is a poor one,” she said. “But them who is rich always give the smallest.”
“I am not rich, I tell you.”
“They who are rich find it hardest to part with their pelf. But I will take it.”
“I will give you a shilling if you’ll go. But it is hard for a very poor man to part with it.”
“Sixpence will do,” said the gipsy, with a laugh. “Give it me. Now show me your palm.”
She pretended to look steadily into the wrinkled palm of the miser’s hand, and then spoke.
“I see here,” she said, “much wealth. Yes, just where this cross lies is gold. I also see poverty. I also see a very great loss and a judgment.”