“And if it should not be averted?” I asked in the moment’s impulse, carried away by the woman’s impressive earnestness.
“Then woe be to those who bring the evil upon her!”
“And of what nature is the evil?”
“I know not,” she replied, her eyes taking again their dreamy, far-off look. “Woe is me!—for I know it not.”
“How do you do, Ludlow? Not here alone, are you?”
A good-looking young fellow, Hyde Stockhausen, had reined in his horse to ask the question: giving at the same time a keen glance to the gipsy woman and then a half-smile at me, as if he suspected I was having my fortune told.
“The rest are on the course somewhere. The Squire is driving old Jacobson about.”
As Hyde nodded and rode on, I chanced to see Ketira’s face. It was stretched out after him with the most eager gaze on it, a defiant look in her black eyes. I thought Stockhausen must have offended her.
“Do you know him?” I asked involuntarily.