'Don't joke, George,' said Mehalah gravely. 'What I say is true.'
'Glory!' said De Witt, 'I always thought you looked like a gipsy with your dark skin and large brown eyes, and now from your own lips comes the confession that you are one.'
'There is none of the blood in my mother,' said she, 'she is like an ordinary Christian. I fancy it jumps a generation.'
'Well, then, you dear gipsy, here is my hand. Tell my fortune.'
'I cannot do that. But I have given you a gipsy charm against evil men and accidents.'
'Hark!'
Out of the clear heaven was heard plaintive whistles, loud, high up, inexpressibly weird and sad, 'Ewe! ewe! ewe!' They burst shrilly on the ears, then became fainter, then burst forth again, then faded away. It was as though spirits were passing in the heavens wailing about a brother sprite that had flickered into nothingness.
'The curlew are in flight. What is the matter, Mehalah?'
The girl was shivering.
'Are you cold!'