But there came a sudden note of masterfulness into the gipsy's voice.
"With my eyes—these eyes," she repeated, pointing to them.
Aunt Rachel kept her own eyes obstinately on her knitting needles. "None except I have seen it. It is not to be seen," she said.
The gipsy sat suddenly erect.
"It is not so. Keep still in your chair," she ordered, "and I will tell you when—"
It was a curious thing that followed. As if all the will went out of her, Aunt Rachel sat very still; and presently her hands fluttered and dropped. The gipsy sat with her own hands folded over the mat on her knees. Several minutes passed; then, slowly, once more that sweetest of smiles stole over Aunt Rachel's cheeks. Once more her head dropped. Her hands moved. Noiselessly on the rockers that the gipsy had padded with felt the chair began to rock. Annabel lifted one hand.
"Dovo se li" she said. "It is there."
Aunt Rachel did not appear to hear her. With that ineffable smile still on her face, she rocked….
Then, after some minutes, there crossed her face such a look as visits the face of one who, waking from sleep, strains his faculties to recapture some blissful and vanishing vision….
"Jal—it is gone," said the gipsy woman.