“Ha!” said he, “here is another of them—well, poor devils, they must live. This, though, is the great fortune-teller. I will try her.”
“God save your honor,” said Molly, as she approached him and dropped a courtesy.
“Ah, Molly,” said he, “you can see into the future, they say. Well, come now, tell me my fortune; but they say one must cross your palm with silver before you can manage the fates; here's a shilling for you, and let us hear what you have to say.”
“No, sir,” replied Molly, putting back his hand, “imposthors may do that, because they secure themselves first and tell you nothing worth knowin' afterwards. I take no money till I first tell the fortune.”
“Well, Molly, that's honest at all events; let me hear what you have to tell me.”
“Show me your hand, sir,” said she, and taking it, she looked into it with a solemn aspect. “There, sir,” she said, “that will do. I am sorry I met you this evening.”
“Why so, Molly?”
“Because I read in your hand a great deal of sorrow.”
“Pooh, you foolish woman—nonsense!”
“There's a misfortune likely to happen to one of your family; but I think it may be prevented.”