"You have come here to give some kind of warning, then?" he said, after a few moments of consideration.
"I have—a warning which may save your life—if you hear me patiently, and obey when you have heard."
"That is the cant of your class, my good woman; and you can scarcely expect me to listen to that kind of thing. If you come here to me, hoping to delude me by the language with which you tell the country people their fortunes at fairs and races, the sooner you go away the better. I am ready to listen to you patiently: if you need help, I am ready to give it you; but it is time and labour lost to practise gipsy jargon upon me."
"I need no help from you," cried the gipsy woman, scornfully; "I tell you again, I come here to serve you."
"In what manner can you serve me? Speak out, and speak quickly!" said
Lionel; "I must return to my guests almost immediately."
"Your guests!" cried the gipsy, with a mocking laugh; "pleasant guests to gather round your hearth at this holy festival-time. Sir Reginald Eversleigh is amongst them, I suppose?"
"He is. You know his name very well, it seems."
"I do."
"Do you know him?"
"Do you know him, Lionel Dale?" demanded the old woman with sudden intensity.