It was perfectly true they had all come to drink, but had forgotten or neglected to bring any vessel with which to draw the water. After looking at them for a moment, with triumph she exclaimed,
"You must then condescend to be beholden to the gipsy for your draught—see here," and she produced, as she spoke, a small silver cup: "Lord Osborne, take this cup and fill it for your guests."
Lord Osborne advanced and prepared to obey her. Sir William stopped him by suggesting perhaps it was a magic cup which might work them harm and woe.
"Scoffer!" said the woman. "It is a magic cup. Carry that cup steadily to your lips, full to the brim, without losing a drop, and it betides you success in your life's undertakings."
"Who will try the omen?" cried Lord Osborne. "For whom shall I dip?"
"Not me! not me!" exclaimed several of the young ladies addressed.
"Let me try first for myself," he said, and stooping filled the little goblet to the brim, raising it steadily and carefully.
"A toast," cried Sir William, "you must not drink without a toast."
"Success to our secret wishes," said he, and drained the cup to the bottom. "Will none follow my example," added he: then again filling the cup, he presented it to Emma; she took it and drank a part, then deliberately poured the remainder on the ground. The gipsy's eyes flashed.
"You defy me," she said, "dark-haired girl—but ere the sun stands again where it now does, your heart will be as heavy as your curls—your hopes as dark as your eyes—tremble—for the approaching news—you, who have dared to disregard my cautions."