“Your sister Livy, do you mean?” said the gipsy.
“No, my Latin Livy.”
The gipsy paused for information. “It had a leaf torn out in the beginning, and I hate Dr. Middleton—”
“Written in it,” interrupted the gipsy.
“Right—the very book!” cried Fisher with joy. “But how could you know it was Dr. Middleton’s name? I thought I had scratched it, so that nobody could make it out.”
“Nobody could make it out but me,” replied the gipsy. “But never think to deceive me,” said she, shaking her head at him in a manner that made him tremble.
“I don’t deceive you indeed, I tell you the whole truth. I lost it a week ago.”
“True.”
“And when shall I find it?”
“Meet me here at this hour to-morrow evening, and I will answer you. No more! I must be gone. Not a word more to-night.”