"Something is sure to turn up," he muttered, "but the right thing is a deuced long time in coming my way."
Hearing footsteps in the lane he looked up and saw a gypsy woman, with a basket on her arm, filled with bunches of primroses. She was young, and not ill looking. Many of her tribe wandered about the Sussex lanes, and he merely regarded her with ordinary interest. She saw him through the hedge, and stopped.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Money, my child is ill," she said.
"Where is your husband?"
"I do not know, I do not care. He has left me, but I have the child. He is in Brighton, he will die if I cannot get money, I must have it."
"I am sorry for you," he said. "Money is scarce with me, but I can let you have a few shillings."
"God bless you, kind gentleman."
It occurred to him her story might be untrue, and he looked at her suspiciously. She saw his glance, and with the quickness of her race knew why he hesitated.
"I have told you the truth, my child is very ill, he is all I have in the world."