"Aha," she cried discordantly. "You weep, my bonny maid! Ah! said I not that the clouds of sorrow hung low over that golden head?"
Bonnibel started and clung closer to her lover, while a tremor shook her frame.
Leslie turned angrily and rebuked the old woman.
"Begone!" he said sternly. "How dare you come prowling about this lady with your croakings of evil? Never dare to address her again."
Wild Madge retreated a few steps and stood looking at him malevolently in the moonlight. Again her laugh rang out mockingly.
"Never fear, fond lover, Wild Madge would not harm a hair of that bonny head you shelter on your breast. But destiny is stronger than you or I. Her doom is written. Take the little maid in your arms and spring out into the sea there, and save her from the heart-aches that are beginning now!"
"Begone, I say!" reiterated the young artist threateningly.
"I obey you," said the sibyl, retreating, with her mocking, discordant laugh still ringing in their ears.
"Bonnibel," he whispered, "look up, my sweet one. The crazy old creature is gone. You need not fear her predictions—they mean nothing! Try and calm yourself and listen to me. I have much to say to you to-night for it is the last time we shall meet until I come to claim my bride. In a few hours I must leave here. To-morrow I shall be on a steamer bound for Europe."
"So soon?" she gasped brokenly, stifling her anguished sobs.