"What do you mean, child?"
"Nothing, aunty," said Gipsy, with a strange smile, "merely making a meditation. Here we are at the stake at last, and there I perceive Reverend Mr. Goodenough ready to act the part of executioner; and there, too, is Dr. Wiseman, the victim—who, as he will by and by find out, is going to prove himself most decidedly a silly man to-day. Now, Gipsy Gower, you are going to create a sensation, my dear, though you are pretty well accustomed to that sort of thing."
They had reached the hall by this time, where Dr. Wiseman, Squire Erliston, and a number of others stood. All stared aghast at the sable robes of Gipsy.
"Oh? how is it? Why, what is the meaning of this?" demanded the squire, in a rage.
"Meaning of what, Guardy?"
"What do you mean, miss, by wearing that black frock?"
"And what business is it of yours, sir?"
"You impudent minx! Go right up stairs and take it off."
"I won't do anything of the kind! There now! Anybody that doesn't like me in this can let me alone," retorted Gipsy.
A fierce imprecation was on the lips of the squire, but Dr. Wiseman laid his hand on his arm, and said, in his oiliest tones: