Dainty suffered them to soothe her by making light of the gypsy's predictions, while she waited uneasily for her lover's return.
Love had indeed rushed away in bitter wrath to upbraid the grewsome fortune-teller; but on entering the tent, whose darkened interior and somber arrangement framed the black-gowned outlines of a tall, masked woman, he recoiled momentarily in something like awe.
"Advance, mortal!" intoned a deep, sepulchral voice: "advance, cross my palm with silver, and hear the sentence of the stars that rule thy destiny!"
Involuntarily Love obeyed, placing the silver on the extended palm, that seemed to tremble as he cried, angrily:
"The silver is for charity, not that I believe any of your ill-timed jargon."
The tall gypsy, whose brow was crowned with silvery tresses, and through whose black mask glittered fierce black eyes, answered, gibingly:
"Whether you believe or not, your fate will be the same. Listen: you are a favorite of fortune, and deeply beloved by two young girls. One is as fair as a summer morn, the other dark and splendid as a moonlit summer night. Your heart inclines to the blonde, but she is false as hell; and if you wed her, you will rue your mistake throughout your life. The stars command you to wed the dark beauty your friends have chosen for you, and you will be blissfully happy."
Love Ellsworth stared curiously at the speaker, then laughed, mockingly:
"'How like an angel's sounds the tongue of woman,
When pleading in another's cause her own!'"
"What mean you?" hissed the veiled gypsy, defiantly; and he answered by snatching a ring from her extended hand, as he cried, gibingly: