on the other, A crone stood in my path—a gipsy crone. I know not how old; but past middle age. Still, from her mien, which was majestic, proud, I think she had been handsome in her youth. "Good morrow, Pedro," said the crone. "Speed well" "Good morrow, Dame," said I.  "You know me, then?" "And have done long. Gipsies know everything. Wilt have a proof of it? Wilt know thy fortune? Show me thy palm," she said. "My palm!" said I, "Know thou, good gipsy, I have nought withal To pay thee." "Never mind for that," she said; "I love to gossip with an old retainer. Thy gossip shall repay me. Quick, thy palm." Then tracing with her gaunt and taloned finger A mystic sign across the line of life, "Not always thus, good Pedro, hast thou been. Thou hast a master who but ill repays Thy manifold and useful services. Thou hadst a mistress once, but she is gone; With her decease good luck hath fled the house, 420But times will change, and luck will reappear, And thou shalt live content to good old age." I recollect no more of what she said, But mighty promises she made of luck. Then straightway she did ask me of my lord— How he fared, and also of Don Diego. "Excellent well," said I, and here I laughed. "Too well, too well, for one with head so white." "How mean'st thou?" she said, with searching gaze. "Why, marry thus!" said I; "they say Don Diego—— Hush, but this is a secret (here I winked) That old Don Diego, spite his years, doth think To take to him a young and pretty wife." Here the crone started somewhat, as I thought, And o'er her bronzed features came a flush Like burnished copper, and her eagle eye Flashed as with fire; but in an instant Her cheeks grew ashen pale and her lips trembled. Why I know not; but deeming her unwell, I offered her a sip of wine from out The gourd I carried at my saddle's flank; But she declined. "No wine," saith she, "hath ever Passed my lips since I was born. Shall I 421Break through my abstinence in hoary age?" Then seeming quite recovered, "Well," she said, "What was it of Don Diego, thou wert saying? Thou saidst, he thought to take to him a wife. Can this be true? Who may the lady be?" Then, mocking her, I said, "Thou knowest all things, Know'st thou not, the lady is our Inez, The daughter of my old lord Don Silvio. Still in her teens, and staying with her aunt, Lady Superior at St Ursula's, From here some fifteen miles, whither I go By order of her father, at full speed To carry back his daughter to his hall? And know'st thou not the wedding day is fixed, And all in readiness, but that our Inez As yet knows nought o't; but that to-morrow, When at eve I bring her to her father, She will soon learn it all, and willy, nilly, Will have to wed the old man for his gold?"' All this I told her. Then she said, "True, true, The stars 

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