At the side of a copse, not many yards distant from the bench where the owner of the park was seated, another and a very different personage might have been discovered. She was a gipsy-woman of middle age, and seemed busily employed in gathering sticks wherewith to cook her supper. The old gentleman looked at her with some attention. For the last three evenings he had remarked her at the same hour and on the same spot. The regularity of her appearance had therefore excited some curiosity—and, beckoning her to come forward, he took his purse from his pocket, and presented her with some silver.
On receiving this munificent present, the gipsy curtseyed reverently to the ground—the old gentleman resumed his newspaper, and waved his hand as a signal she should retire; but she made a step closer to the bench, directed a speaking look at Mr. Clifford for a moment, then threw a suspicious glance around, and, in a low voice said, with some hesitation, “We are alone, sir,—Dare I speak to you?”
The old gentleman for a moment regarded the speaker with marked astonishment. The manner, rather than the words, was startling; but he nodded a mute assent.
“For many a week I have sought this opportunity; but you are so closely watched, that, hitherto, I dared not venture near you—I have tidings—”
“None, woman, that can interest me,” said the old man, with a melancholy sigh. “There is nothing in this life to give me pleasure, and little connected with it that could cause me pain. No tie binds me to the world—”
“And yet you have a double one—the dearest to ordinary hearts, have you not a daughter and a grandchild?”
“Stop, woman,—who are you?”
“The humble instrument of Heaven, destined, I hope, to restore to the parent’s arms, a child alienated far too long—Ah! here comes yon meddling priest! Would you even yet have the remnant of your days made happy, be here to-morrow evening—and, for your own sake, be silent.”
“I will,” said the old man impressively. The gipsy assumed her former attitude of deep humility, curtseyed to the ground again, resumed the bundle of sticks she had collected; and, as if she had not perceived him coming, turned into the direct path by which the confessor hastily advanced.
They met; the gipsy made her humble obeisance, which the priest returned by a searching glance. In the handsome features of the wanderer there was nothing to excite suspicion, and he simply asked “what was her business with Mr. Clifford?”