Part 11 (1/2)
He made no reply, for Meg was just coming in with a cup of tea, which she gave to Zula, who as she drank it, said:
”It is so bitter.”
”It will strengthen you,” said the old gypsy.
”Will it cure the cuts on my shoulder?” asked Zula.
”That is all nonsense.”
”Oh, I know it is cut; and here is one on my arm; I know by the way they smart.”
She raised the sleeve of her dress, and revealed a gash from which the blood had started.
”Then you must learn to be good. You don't know,” she said, turning to the stranger, ”what a bad little thief she is.”
”No matter what wrong she has done it does not justify the punishment you have given her.”
Zula's eyes were turned full upon the face of the young man as though beseeching him not to believe her guilty.
”Will you have your fortune told?” asked Meg.
”For what? I came out to the woods to get fresh air and to practice a little shooting. I came very near using that young rascal there for a target. It is quite necessary to keep in practice, I see--but what do you know of my fortune?”
”I can tell you what you wish to know most.”
He laughed.
”See if I cannot.”
”Well,” he said, prompted by curiosity, ”if you can tell me all that, proceed.”
She took his hand, as soft and white as a woman's, and gazing at the palm, she said:
”You are wealthy.”
”Indeed.”
”Your parents are both living.”
”Yes.”
”Your hands are never soiled with work.”
”I thought you were to tell me something which I did not know.”
”You will marry a beautiful woman.”
”Ah! well, that will be no satisfaction if she is not good.”
”She will be good and beautiful.”