“Here, Nell, Nell!—the cards are clean against us, your Gran says—come and cut, like a good girl.”
Nellie rose willingly enough, but the old woman said scornfully, “Nell, Nell, she ain’t got no luck at all. Three times I tried her fortune, and three times it came, ‘tears, tears, tears’—never naught else for Nell but tears.”
“Never mind, mother, better luck this time, eh, Nell?” and the girl took the cards, and smiled trustingly up into his face.
“Cut, Nell.”
She cut the nine of spades, and the old woman groaned. “Disaster, sure as fate; let Macartney’s mob alone, I tell you.”
“Cut again, Nell.”
She shuffled them carefully, the other four watching her with eager, anxious eyes, while the man at her side looked on with tolerant scorn. And then she cut—the ace of spades. Her grandmother threw up her hands. “Death, I tell you—death—death—death—an’ no less.”
Gentleman Jim struck the cards out of her hand roughly, and they went flying to all corners of the hut.
“Come outside, Nell—come down to the waterhole, it’s cool there, and better fun than listening to an old woman’s twaddle. The sun’s down now. Come on.”
She looked at her grandmother first, partly from habit, but the old woman was still wringing her hands over the danger foretold by the cards, and was blind for the moment to that right under her eyes. So Nellie followed him gladly, only too gladly, down the steep bank to the waterhole. He pushed her down somewhat roughly under the shadow of the western bank, and then flung himself down on the ground beside her, and put his head in her lap. With her little work-hardened hand, she smoothed back his black hair, and he looked up into her face.