'I will tell you, directly, who I am. About your cousin, Matthew, I warn you solemnly. The next attempt you make upon his life and liberty will bring upon your head—yours—not to speak of the others—the greatest disaster that you can imagine, or can dread. The greatest disaster,' she repeated solemnly, 'that you can imagine or can dread.' She looked like a Prophetess, standing before him with hand raised and with solemn voice.
'This is fooling. What do you know? Who are you?'
'I cannot tell what kind of disaster it will be—the greatest—the worst possible—it will be. Be warned. Keep Mr. Probus at arm's length or he will ruin you—he will ruin you, unless he has ruined you already.'
'You cannot frighten me with bugaboo stories. If you will not tell me who you are. I shall go.'
She tore off her glove. 'Does this hand,' she said, 'remind you of nothing?'
On the third finger of the white hand was a wedding-ring which I had never seen there before.
He stared at the hand. Perhaps he suspected. I think he did. No one who had once seen that hand could possibly forget it.
She tore off her domino. 'You have doubtless forgotten, Matthew, by this time, the face—of your wife.'
He cursed her. He stood up and cursed her in round terms. I don't know why. He accused her of nothing. But he cursed her. She was the origin and cause of his bad luck.
I would have interfered. 'Let be—let be,' she said. 'The time will surely come when the ruin which I have foretold will fall upon him. Let us wait till then. That will be sufficient punishment for him. I see it coming—I know not when. I see it coming. Let him curse.'