'I am no thief,' said the woman, with shortened breath. 'I am an honest woman, lady, an' honester than many folk that live in great housen, like yonder. Pretty lady, don't be so hard on the poor gipsy. I've had troubles I tell ye, to which yours are nought—an' I don't ask yer pity.'
'Then what do you ask?' asked Deborah, turning full upon her.
'Yer hand—to let me see yer hand.'
'For the sake of gold! I have no gold to give you.'
'Nay, for no gold,' said the woman eagerly; 'but to read yer fate. A silver piece will do it. There! I will tell ye yer fortune for that.'
'And to what end? Have you an interest in me? in one whom you would have gladly lured away to a life of sin and misery? or as a hostage for my father's gold? You have done me grievous wrong. You take too much heed by half to the interests of the Flemings, woman; it is for no good.'
'Yes,' said the gipsy, in a strange low tone, 'I take interest in ye, but more in yours. Lady, let me see yer hand. I tell ye I have interest in yer fate, and in the fate o' one yer soul loves. Come!'
'You shall not wheedle me into it,' said Deborah. 'If I consent to let you, it will be of mine own free-will and after thought, not from words of yours. Some tell me it is vain; some say that fortune-telling sells you to the evil one—that it is grievous sin to seek your fate by signs and stars. I am not of these opinions.' The girl seemed talking to herself; the gipsy watched her keenly.
'Yes,' said Deborah, looking up and full at her, 'you shall tell my fortune. But can you trust me for the money?'
'Yes.'