'Alarm her! My dear Gerald, what are you thinking of? Why, she wouldnot be alarmed or afraid of me if all the gipsies that ever didn'tcome from Bohemia agreed that I was to murder her, or even to have ahard thought of her, whilst so long as she was saying "JackRobinson."'
Gerald remonstrated. 'Old fellow, women are superstitious--far morethan we men are; and, also they are blessed--or cursed--with a nervoussystem to which we are strangers. I see too much of it in my work notto realise it. Take my advice and do not let her know, or you willfrighten her.'
Joshua's lips unconsciously hardened as he answered: 'My dear fellow,I would not have a secret from my wife. Why, it would be thebeginning of a new order of things between us. We have no secrets fromeach other. If we ever have, then you may begin to look out forsomething odd between us.'
'Still,' said Gerald, 'at the risk of unwelcome interference, I sayagain be warned in time.'
'The gipsy's very words,' said Joshua. 'You and she seem quite of oneaccord. Tell me, old man, is this a put-up thing? You told me of thegipsy camp--did you arrange it all with Her Majesty?' This was saidwith an air of bantering earnestness. Gerald assured him that he onlyheard of the camp that morning; but he made fun of every answer of hisfriend, and, in the process of this raillery, the time passed, andthey entered the cottage.
Mary was sitting at the piano but not playing. The dim twilight hadwaked some very tender feelings in her breast, and her eyes were fullof gentle tears. When the men came in she stole over to her husband'sside and kissed him. Joshua struck a tragic attitude.
'Mary,' he said in a deep voice, 'before you approach me, listen tothe words of Fate. The Stars have spoken and the doom is sealed.'
'What is it, dear? Tell me the fortune, but do not frighten me.'
'Not at all, my dear; but there is a truth which it is well that youshould know. Nay, it is necessary so that all your arrangements can bemade beforehand, and everything be decently done and in order.'
'Go on, dear; I am listening.'
'Mary Considine, your effigy may yet be seen at Madame Tussaud's. Thejuris-imprudent Stars have announced their fell tidings that this handis red with blood--your blood. Mary! Mary! my God!' He sprangforward, but too late to catch her as she fell fainting on the floor.
'I told you,' said Gerald. 'You don't know them as well as I do.'
After a little while Mary recovered from her swoon, but only to fallinto strong hysterics, in which she laughed and wept and raved andcried, 'Keep him from me--from me, Joshua, my husband,' and many otherwords of entreaty and of fear.
Joshua Considine was in a state of mind bordering on agony, and whenat last Mary became calm he knelt by her and kissed her feet and handsand hair and called her all the sweet names and said all the tenderthings his lips could frame. All that night he sat by her bedside andheld her hand. Far through the night and up to the early morning shekept waking from sleep and crying out as if in fear, till she wascomforted by the consciousness that her husband was watching besideher.
Breakfast was late the next morning, but during it Joshua received atelegram which required him to drive over to Withering, nearly twentymiles. He was loth to go; but Mary would not hear of his remaining,and so before noon he drove off in his dog-cart alone.
When he was gone Mary retired to her room. She did not appear atlunch, but when afternoon tea was served on the lawn under the greatweeping willow, she came to join her guest. She was looking quiterecovered from her illness of the evening before. After some casualremarks, she said to Gerald: 'Of course it was very silly about lastnight, but I could not help feeling frightened. Indeed I would feel sostill if I let myself think of it. But, after all these people mayonly imagine things, and I have got a test that can hardly fail toshow that the prediction is false--if indeed it be false,' she addedsadly.
'What is your plan?' asked Gerald.
'I shall go myself to the gipsy camp, and have my fortune told by theQueen.'
'Capital. May I go with you?'
'Oh, no! That would spoil it. She might know you and guess at me, andsuit her utterance accordingly. I shall go alone this afternoon.'
When the afternoon was gone Mary Considine took her way to the gipsyencampment. Gerald went with her as far as the near edge of thecommon, and returned alone.
Half-an-hour had hardly elapsed when Mary entered the drawing-room,where he lay on a sofa reading. She was ghastly pale and was in astate of extreme excitement. Hardly had she passed over the thresholdwhen she collapsed and sank moaning on the carpet. Gerald rushed toaid her, but by a great effort she controlled herself and motioned himto be silent. He waited, and his ready attention to her wish seemed tobe her best help, for, in a few minutes, she had somewhat recovered,and was able to tell him what had passed.
'When I got to the camp,' she said, 'there did not seem to be a soulabout, I went into the centre and stood there. Suddenly a tall womanstood beside me. "Something told me I was wanted!" she said. I heldout my hand and laid a piece of silver on it. She took from her neck asmall golden trinket and laid it there also; and then, seizing thetwo, threw them into the stream that ran by. Then she took my hand inhers and spoke: "Naught but blood in this guilty place," and turnedaway. I caught hold of her and asked her to tell me more. After somehesitation, she said: "Alas! alas! I see you lying at your husband'sfeet, and his hands are red with blood."'
Gerald did not feel at all at ease, and tried to laugh it off.'Surely,' he said, 'this woman has a craze about murder.'
'Do not laugh,' said Mary, 'I cannot bear it,' and then, as if with asudden impulse, she left the room.
Not long after Joshua returned, bright and cheery, and as hungry as ahunter after his long drive. His presence cheered his wife, who seemedmuch brighter, but she did not mention the episode of the visit to thegipsy camp, so Gerald did not mention it either. As if by tacitconsent the subject was not alluded to during the evening. But therewas a strange, settled look on Mary's face, which Gerald could not butobserve.
In the morning Joshua came down to breakfast later than usual. Maryhad been up and about the house from an early hour; but as the timedrew on she seemed to get a little nervous and now and again threwaround an anxious look.
Gerald could not help noticing that none of those at breakfast couldget on satisfactorily with their food. It was not altogether that thechops were tough, but that the knives were all so blunt. Being aguest, he, of course, made no sign; but presently saw Joshua draw histhumb across the edge of his knife in an unconscious sort of way. Atthe action Mary turned pale and almost fainted.
After breakfast they all went out on the lawn. Mary was making up abouquet, and said to her husband, 'Get me a few of the tea-roses,dear.'
Joshua pulled down a cluster from the front of the house. The stembent, but was too tough to break. He put his hand in his pocket to gethis knife; but in vain. 'Lend me your knife, Gerald,' he said. ButGerald had not got one, so he went into the breakfast room and tookone from the table. He came out feeling its edge and grumbling. 'Whaton earth has happened to all the knives--the edges seem all groundoff?' Mary turned away hurriedly and entered the house.