He held out his hand, and for some minutes she regarded it silently. They made a picturesque group under the budding trees, with the birds peeping down and twittering in surprise, and the primroses glistening all around.
"There are riches in store for you, there are dangers to be met with in a far off land. You will live long but there are years of strife before you. It is a good hand, the lines are true, it is not the hand of a man who will fail when the time comes."
He was interested, although he did not believe her story.
"Then there is no luck in store for me in England?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"None until you return," she replied.
"And where must I go? To what land must I journey to gain these riches?"
"That I cannot tell, you must trust to fate."
"I am not likely to leave England."
"You will, and before long."