by G. A. Henty
CHAPTER IV.
THE GYPSY.
Mr. and Mrs. Covington remained for a week after Hilda was installedwith the Purcells in their new home. To her the house with its gardenand pretty pony-carriage and pony were nothing remarkable, but Netta'senjoyment in all these things amused her, and the thought that she, too,would some day be able to talk and enjoy life as her companion did,greatly raised her spirits. Her father and mother were delighted athearing her merry laugh mingled with that of Netta as they walkedtogether in the garden, and they went home with lighter hearts and morehopeful spirits than they had felt since the child's illness began.
Every three or four months--for a journey to Hanover was a longer andmore serious business in 1843 than it is at present--they went over tospend a week there. There could be no doubt from the first that thechange was most beneficial to Hilda. Her cheeks regained their color andher limbs their firmness. She lost the dull look and the apathy towhatever was going on around her that had before distressed them. Sheprogressed very rapidly in her study of German, and at the end of sixmonths her conversations with Netta were entirely carried on in thatlanguage. She had made some little progress in reading from hercompanion's lips and had just entered at Herr Menzel's academy. Shecould now take long walks with Netta, and every afternoon, or, as summercame on, every evening, they drove together in the pony-chaise. Withrenewed health and strength there had been some slight improvement inher hearing. She could now faintly distinguish any loud sounds, such asthose of the band of a regiment marching past her or a sudden peal ofbells.
"I think that we shall make an eventual cure," Dr. Hartwig said. "Itwill be slow, and possibly her hearing may never be absolutely good; butat least we may hope that she may be able to eventually hear as well asnine people out of ten."
In another year she could, indeed, though with difficulty, hear voices,and when she had been at Hanover three years her cure was almostcomplete, and she now went every morning to school to learn French andmusic. She herself was quite content to remain there. She was very happyin her life and surroundings, and could now read with the greatestfacility from the lips, and indeed preferred watching a speaker's mouthto listening to the voice. It was a source of endless amusement to herthat she could, as she and Netta walked through the streets, read scrapsof conversation between persons on the other side of the street orpassing in carriages.
Another six months and both the doctor and Professor Menzel said thatthey could do nothing more for her. She was still somewhat hard ofhearing; but not enough so to be noticeable; while she could with hereyes follow the most rapid speaker, and the Professor expressed hisregret that so excellent an example of the benefit of his system shouldnot be in circumstances that would compel her to make a living bybecoming a teacher in it. Netta was now a paid assistant at theinstitution.
The end of what had been a very happy time to Hilda came abruptly andsadly, for three weeks before the date when her parents were to comeover to take her home, Miss Purcell, on opening a letter that came justas they had finished breakfast, said, after sitting silent for a fewminutes, "You need not put on your things, Hilda; you cannot go toschool this morning; I have some bad news, dear--very bad news."
The tone of voice in which she spoke, even more than the words, sent achill into the girl's heart.
"What is it, aunt?" she said, for she had from the first used the sameterm as Netta in addressing her.
"Your father has had a serious illness, my dear--a very, very seriousand sudden illness, and your mother wishes you to go home at once."
Hilda looked at her with frightened, questioning eyes, while everyvestige of color left her cheeks. "Is he--is he----" she asked.
"Here is an inclosure for you," Miss Purcell said, as she got up, andtaking Hilda's hand in one of hers drew her with the other arm close toher; "your mother wrote to me that I might prepare you a little beforegiving it to you. A terrible misfortune has happened. Your dear fatheris dead. He died suddenly of an affection of the heart."
"Oh, no, no; it cannot be!" Hilda cried.
"It is true, my dear. God has taken him. You must be strong and brave,dear, for your mother's sake."
"Oh, my poor mother, my poor mother!" Hilda cried, bursting into asudden flood of tears, "what will she do!"
It was not until some time afterwards that she was sufficiently composedto read her mother's letter, which caused her tears to flow afresh.After giving the details of her father's death, it went on:
"I have written to your uncle, General Mathieson, who is, I know,appointed one of the trustees, and is joined with me as your guardian. Ihave asked him to find and send over a courier to fetch you home, and nodoubt he will arrive a day or two after you receive this letter. Soplease get everything ready to start at once, when he comes."
Two days later General Mathieson himself arrived, accompanied by acourier. It was a great comfort to Hilda that her uncle had come for herinstead of a stranger.
"It is very kind of you to come yourself, uncle," she said as she threwherself crying into his arms.
"Of course I should come, dear," he said. "Who should fetch you exceptyour uncle? I had to bring a courier with me, for I don't understand anyof their languages, and he will take all trouble off my hands. Now letme look at your face." It was a pale, sad little face that was liftedup, but two days of sorrow had not obliterated the signs of health andwell-being.
"Whiter than it ought to be," he said, "but clear and healthy, and verydifferent from what it was when I saw you before you came out. You havegrown wonderfully, child. Really, I should hardly have known you again."
And so he kept on for two or three minutes, to allow her to recoverherself.
"Now, dear, you must take me in and introduce me to your kind friendshere."
Hilda led the way into the sitting room.
"I have heard so much of you and your niece, Miss Purcell," he said ashe shook hands with her, "that I do do not feel that you are a stranger.You certainly seem to have worked wonders between you for my niece, andI must own that in the first place I thought it a mistake her being hereby herself, for I had no belief that either her hearing would berestored or that she would ever be able to follow what people weresaying by only staring at their lips."
"Yes, indeed, Hanover has agreed with her, sir, and it is only a smallpart of the credit that is due to us."
"I must differ from you entirely, madam. If she had not been perfectlyhappy here with you, she would never have got on as she has done."
"Have you any luggage, sir? Of course you will stay with us to-night."
"No, thank you, Miss Purcell. We have already been to the Kaiserhof, andlong before this my courier will have taken rooms and made everypreparation for me. You see, I am accustomed to smoke at all times, andcould not think of scenting a house, solely inhabited by ladies, withtobacco. Now, if you will excuse me, I will ask Hilda to put on herbonnet and take a stroll with me."
"I shall be very glad for her to do so. It is just getting cool andpleasant for walking, and half an hour in the fresh air will do hergood."
It was an hour before they returned. General Mathieson had gently toldher all there was to tell of her father's death, and turning from thathe spoke of her mother, and how nobly she was bearing her troubles, anderelong her tears, which had burst out anew, flowed more quietly, andshe felt comforted. Presently she said suddenly:
"What is going to be done here, uncle? I have been thinking over thatever since it was settled that I was to come home next month, and I amsure that, although she has said nothing about it, Miss Purcell has feltthe change that is coming. She said the other day, 'I shall not go backto the apartments where you found us, Hilda. You see, we are a greatdeal better off than we were before. In the first place I have hadnothing whatever to spend, and during the four years the ridiculouslyliberal sum paid to Netta and myself has been all laid aside and hasmounted up to six hundred pounds. My pension of eighty pounds a year hasalso accumulated, with the exception of a small sum req
uired for ourclothes, so that in fact I have nearly a thousand pounds laid by. Nettais earning thirty pounds a year at the Institute; with that and mypension and the interest on money saved we shall get on verycomfortably.' I should not like, uncle, to think of them in a littlestuffy place in the town. Having a nice garden and everythingcomfortable has done a great deal for Miss Purcell. Netta told me thatshe was very delicate before, and that she is quite a different womansince she came out here from the town. You cannot tell how kind she hasalways been. If I had been her own child, she could not have been moreloving. In fact, no one could have told by her manner that she was notmy mother and Netta my sister."
"Yes, dear, I ran down to your mother before starting to fetch you tohelp in the arrangements, and she spoke about Miss Purcell. Underordinary circumstances, of course, at the end of the four years that youhave been here the house would be given up and she would, as you say, gointo a much smaller place; but your mother does not consider that theseare ordinary circumstances, and thinks that her care and kindness havehad quite as much to do with the improvement in your health as has thedoctor. Of course we had no time to come to any definite plan, but shehas settled that things are to go on here exactly as at present, exceptthat your friend Netta will not be paid for acting as companion to you.I am to tell Miss Purcell that with that exception everything is to goon as before, and that your mother will need a change, and will probablycome out here in a month or so for some time."
"Does she really mean that, uncle?"
"Certainly, and the idea is an excellent one. After such a shock as shehas had an entire change of scene will be most valuable; and as sheknows Miss Purcell well, and you like the place very much, I don't thinkthat any better plan could be hit upon. I dare say she will stay heretwo or three months, and you can continue your studies. At the end ofthat time I have no doubt some plan that will give satisfaction to allparties will be hit upon."
Hilda returned to Hanover with her mother a month later. At the end ofthree months Mrs. Covington bought the house and presented the deeds toMiss Purcell, who had known nothing whatever of her intentions.
"I could not think of accepting it," she exclaimed.
"But you cannot help accepting it, dear Miss Purcell; here are the deedsin your name. The house will be rather large for you at present, but ina few years, indeed in two or three years, Netta could begin to take afew pupils. As soon as she is ready to do so I shall, of course, mentionit among my friends, and be able to send a few children, whose parentswould be ready to pay well to have them taught this wonderful method ofbrightening their lives, which is at present quite unknown in England."
So it was arranged; but a few months after her return to England Mrs.Covington, who had never altogether recovered from the shock of herhusband's death, died after a short illness, and Hilda became an inmateof her uncle's house. Since that time three years had elapsed, and Hildawas now eighteen, and Netta was over for a two months' visit.
The scene in the grounds of Lady Moulton's charming villa at Richmond, afortnight after the conversation between that lady and Hilda, was a gayone. Everyone in society had been invited and there were but fewrefusals; the weather was lovely, and all agreed that even at Ascot thecostumes were not brighter or more varied.
Although the fete was especially on behalf of a charity, no admissionfees were charged to guests, but everyone understood that it would behis duty to lay out money at the various picturesque tents scatteredabout under the trees. In these were all the most popular entertainersof the day. In one pavilion John Parry gave a short entertainment everyhalf-hour. In a larger one Mario, Grisi, Jenny Lind, and Alboni gaveshort concerts, and high as were the prices of admission, there wasnever a seat vacant. Conjurers had a tent, electro-biologists--then thelatest rage from the United States--held their seances, and at somedistance from the others Richardson's booth was in full swing. TheGrenadiers' band and a string band played alternately.
Not the least attraction to many was the gypsy tent erected at the edgeof a thick shrubbery, for it soon became rumored that the old gypsywoman there was no ordinary impostor, but really possessed ofextraordinary powers of palmistry. Everything had been done to add tothe air of mystery pervading the place. Externally it was but a long,narrow marquee. On entering, the inquirer was shown by an attendant to aseat in an apartment carpeted in red, with black hangings and blackcloth lining the roof. From this hung a lamp, all other light beingexcluded. As each visitor came out from the inner apartment the next inorder was shown in, and the heavy curtains shut off all sound of whatwas passing. Here sat an apparently aged gypsy on an old stump of atree. A fire burned on the ground and a pot was suspended by a tripodover it; a hood above this carried the smoke out of the tent. Thecurtains here were red; the roof, as in the other compartment, black,but sprinkled with gold and silver stars. A stool was placed for thevisitor close enough to the gypsy for the latter to examine her hand bythe light of two torches, which were fastened to a rough sapling stuckin the ground.
Hilda possessed every advantage for making the most of the situation.Owing to her intimacy with Lady Moulton, and her experience for a yearin the best London society, she knew all its gossip, while she hadgathered much more than others knew from the conversations both of thedancers and the lookers-on.
The first to enter was a young man who had been laughingly challenged bythe lady he was walking with to go in and have his fortune told.
"Be seated, my son," the old woman said; "give me your hand and a pieceof money."
With a smile he handed her half a sovereign. She crossed his palm withit and then proceeded attentively to examine the lines.
"A fair beginning," she said, "and then troubles and difficulties. HereI see that, some three years back, there is the mark of blood; you wondistinction in war. Then there is a cross-mark which would show achange. Some good fortune befell you. Then the lines darken. Things gofrom bad to worse as they proceed. You took to a vice--cards orhorse-racing. Here are evil associates, but there is a white line thatruns through them. There is a girl somewhere, with fair hair and blueeyes, who loves you, and whom you love, and whose happiness is imperiledby this vice and these associates. Beyond, there is another cross-lineand signs of a conflict. What happens after will depend upon yourself.Either the white line and the true love will prove too powerful for thebad influences or these will end in ruin and--ah! sudden and violentdeath. Your future, therefore, depends upon yourself, and it is for youto say which influence must triumph. That is all."
Without a word he went out.
"You look pale, Mr. Desmond," the lady said when he rejoined her. "Whathas she told you?"
"I would rather not tell you, Mrs. Markham," he said seriously. "Ithought it was going to be a joke, but it is very far from being one.Either the woman is a witch or she knew all about me personally, whichis barely within the limits of possibility. At any rate she has given mesomething to think of."
"I will try myself," the lady said; "it is very interesting."
"I should advise you not to," he said earnestly.
"Nonsense!" she laughed; "I have no superstitions. I will go in and hearwhat she has to say." And leaving him, she entered the tent.
The gypsy examined her hand in silence. "I would rather not tell youwhat I see," she said as she dropped the hand. "Oh, ridiculous!" thelady exclaimed. "I have crossed your palm with gold, and I expect to getmy money's worth," and she held out her hand again.
The gypsy again examined it.
"You stand at the crossing of the ways. There are two men--one dark,quiet, and earnest, who loves you. You love him, but not as he lovesyou; but your line of life runs smoothly until the other line, that of abrown man, becomes mixed up in it. He loves you too, with a hot,passionate love that would soon fade. You had a letter from him a day ortwo back. Last night, as he passed you in a dance, he whispered, 'I havenot had an answer,' and the next time he passed you, you replied, 'Youmust give me another day or two.' Upon the answer you give the future ofyour lif
e will depend. Here is a broad, fair line, and here is a short,jagged one, telling of terrible troubles and misery. It is for you todecide which course is to be yours."
As she released her hold of the hand it dropped nerveless. The gypsypoured out a glass of water from a jug by her side, but her visitorwaved it aside, and with a great effort rose to her feet, her face aspale as death.
"My God!" she murmured to herself, "this woman is really a witch."
"They do not burn witches now," the gypsy said; "I only read what I seeon the palm. You cannot deny that what I have said is true. Stay amoment and drink a glass of wine; you need it before you go out."
She took a bottle of wine from behind her seat, emptied the water on tothe earth, half filled a tumbler, and held it out. The frightened womanfelt that indeed she needed it before going out into the gay scene, andtossed it off.
"Thank you!" she said. "Whoever you are, I thank you. You have read myfate truly, and have helped me to decide it."
Desmond was waiting for her when she came out, but she passed him with agesture.
"You are right!" she said. "She is a witch indeed!"
Few other stories told were as tragic, but in nearly every case thevisitors retired puzzled at the knowledge the gypsy possessed of theirlife and surroundings, and it soon became rumored that the old woman'spowers were something extraordinary, and the little ante-room was keptfilled with visitors waiting their turn for an audience. No one noticedthe long and frequent absences of Hilda Covington from the grounds. Thetent had been placed with its back hiding a small path through theshrubbery. Through a peep-hole arranged in the curtain she was able tosee who was waiting, and each time before leaving said a few words as totheir lives which enabled Netta to support the character fairly. Whenthe last guest had departed and she joined Lady Moulton, she handed overa bag containing nearly a hundred pounds.
"I have deducted five pounds for the gypsy," she said, "and eight poundsfor the hire of the tent and its fittings."
"That is at least five times as much as I expected, Hilda. I have heardall sorts of marvelous stories of the power of your old woman. Severalpeople told me that she seemed to know all about them, and told themthings that they believed were only known to themselves. But how did sheget so much money?"
Hilda laughed. "I hear that they began with half-sovereigns, but as soonas they heard of her real powers, they did not venture to present herwith anything less than a sovereign, and in a good many cases they gavemore--no doubt to propitiate her into giving them good fortunes. Yousee, each visitor only had two or three minutes' interview, so that shegot through from twenty to thirty an hour; and as it lasted four hoursshe did exceedingly well."
"But who is the gypsy, and where did you find her?"
"The gypsy has gone, and is doubtless by this time in some caravan orgypsy tent. I do not think that you will ever find her again."
"I should have suspected that you played the gypsy yourself, Hilda, wereit not that I saw you half a dozen times."
"I have no skill in palmistry," the girl laughed, "and certainly havenot been in two places at once. I did my duty and heard Jenny Lind singand Parry play, though I own that I did not patronize Richardson'sbooth."
"Well, it is extraordinary that this old woman should know the historyof such a number of people as went into her tent, few of whom she couldever have heard of even by name, to say nothing of knowing them bysight."
Several ladies called within the next few days, specially to inquirefrom Lady Moulton about the gypsy.
"Everyone is talking about her," one said. "Certainly she told meseveral things about the past that it was hardly possible that a womanin her position could know. I have often heard that gypsies pick upinformation from servants, or in the country from village gossip; but atleast a hundred people visited this woman's tent, and from what I heareveryone was as astonished as I was myself at her knowledge of theirfamily matters. It is said that in some cases she went farther thanthis, and told them things about the present known only to themselvesand two or three intimate friends. Some of them seemed to have beenquite seriously affected. I saw Mrs. Markham just after she had left thetent, and she was as white as a sheet, and I know she drove away a fewminutes afterwards."
To all inquiries Lady Moulton simply replied:
"I know no more about the gypsy than you do. Miss Covington took theentire management of the gypsy tent off my hands, saw to the tent beingerected, and engaged the gypsy. Where she picked her up I have no idea,but I fancy that she must have got her from their encampment on HamCommon. She turned the matter off when I asked her point-blank, and Iimagine that she must have given the old crone a promise not to let itbe known who she was. They are curious people, the gypsies, and foraught I know may have an objection to any of the tribe going to agathering like ours to tell fortunes."
Some appeals were made to Hilda personally; but Lady Moulton had toldher the answer she had given, and taking her cue from it she was able toso shape her replies that her questioners left her convinced that shehad really, while carrying out Lady Moulton's instructions, lighted on agypsy possessing some of the secrets of the almost forgotten science ofpalmistry.