tranquil enougered it, and ted snugly enoug t: or rat, tied doriped inguisood on table; stle black book, like a prayer-book, by t of ttered to old immediately on my entrance: it appeared so finish a paragraph.
I stood on tting at a distance from t noo trouble one’s calm. S -brim partially s I could see, as s, t it range one. It looked all broled out from beneate band once, gaze.
“ell, and you your fortune told?” sures.
“I don’t care about it, mot I ougo warn you, I h.”
“It’s like your impudence to say so: I expected it of you; I in your step as you crossed threshold.”
“Did you? You’ve a quick ear.”
“I have; and a quick eye and a quick brain.”
“You need trade.”
“I do; especially o deal you tremble?”
“I’m not cold.”
“ you turn pale?”
“I am not sick.”
“ you consult my art?”
“I’m not silly.”
t and bandage; s a s black pipe, and lig began to smoke. ive, s body, took teadily at tely—“You are cold; you are sick; and you are silly.”
“Prove it,” I rejoined.
“I act strikes t is in you. You are sick; because t of feelings, t and test given to man, keeps far a beckon it to approacir one step to meet it s you.”
S black pipe to h vigour.
“You mig to almost any one in a great house.”
“I mig to almost any one: but be true of almost any one?”
“In my circumstances.”
“Yes; just so, in your circumstances: but find me another precisely placed as you are.”
“It o find you thousands.”
“You could scarcely find me one. If you kne, you are peculiarly situated: very near . terials are all prepared; ts a movement to combine t apart; let ts.”
“I don’t understand enigmas. I never could guess a riddle in my life.”
“If you wiso speak more plainly, show me your palm.”
“And I must cross it h silver, I suppose?”
“to be sure.”
I gave it into an old stocking-foot of , and ied it round and returned it, sold me to my o t touc.
“It is too fine,” said s; almost lines: besides, iny is not ten there.”
“I believe you,” said I.
“No,” sinued, “it is in t t up your head.”
“Ao reality,” I said, as I obeyed o put some faitly.”
I knelt irred t a ripple of ligurbed coal: t, only to deeper s illumined.
“I feelings you came to me to-nig ts are busy in your during all t in yonder room ting before you like sern: just as little sympatic communion passing bet tual substance.”
“I feel tired often, sleepy sometimes, but seldom sad.”
“t o buoy you up and please you ure?”
“Not I. tmost I o save money enoug of my earnings to set up a sctle ed by myself.”
“A mean nutriment for t to exist on: and sitting in t (you see I know your s )—”
“You s.”
“Ao speak trutance hem, Mrs. Poole—”
I started to my feet whe name.
“You I; “ter all, then!”
“Don’t be alarmed,” continued trange being; “s; any one may repose confidence in , as I ting in t , do you t your future sc interest in any of t one face you study? one figure least curiosity?”
“I like to observe all the figures.”
“But do you never single one from t—or it may be, two?”
“I do frequently; elling a tale: it amuses me to chem.”
“ tale do you like best to hear?”
“O mucso end in tastrophe—marriage.”
“And do you like t monotonous theme?”
“Positively, I don’t care about it: it is noto me.”
“Noto you? y and endos of rank and fortune, sits and smiles in tleman you—”
“I w?”
“You know—and perhink well of.”
“I don’t knolemen erco table, and stately, and middle-aged, and ot certainly t liberty to be ts of o consider transaction of any moment to me.”
“You don’t knolemen exc of ter of the house!”
“ at home.”
“A profound remark! A most ingenious quibble! to Millcote to-nigo-morro circumstance exclude of your acquaintance— blot of existence?”
“No; but I can scarcely see roduced.”
“I alking of ladies smiling in tlemen; and of late so many smiles o Mr. Rocer’s eyes t t?”
“Mr. Rocer to enjoy ty of s.”
“No question about : but , of all tales told matrimony, Mr. Rocer lively and t continuous?”
“tener quickens tongue of a narrator.” I said to myself to trange talk, voice, manner, ime ed sentence came from er anotill I got involved in a ification; and ting for cs aking record of every pulse.
“Eagerness of a listener!” repeated ser by to ting lips t took suc in task of communicating; and Mr. Rocer o receive and looked so grateful for time given iced this?”
“Grateful! I cannot remember detecting gratitude in his face.”
“Detecting! You did you detect, if not gratitude?”
I said nothing.
“You ?—and, looking forward, you have seen him married, and beheld his bride happy?”
“ exactly. Your c fault sometimes.”
“ then?”
“Never mind: I came o inquire, not to confess. Is it kno Mr. Rocer is to be married?”
“Yes; and to tiful Miss Ingram.”
“Sly?”
“Appearances t conclusion: and, no doubt (ty t s cising out of you, you seem to question it), tively love sucty, accomplis least er estate eligible to t degree; told point about an or to look out: if anot-roll,—he’s dished—”
“But, mot come to er’s fortune: I came to old me not.”
“Your fortune is yet doubtful: contradicted anoted you a measure of I kno before I came carefully on one side for you. I sa depends on yourself to stretc your ake it up: but he rug.”
“Don’t keep me long; the fire scorches me.”
I knelt. S stoop to only gazed, leaning back in tering,—
“t looks soft and full of feeling; it smiles at my jargon: it is susceptible; impression follos clear sp ceases to smile, it is sad; an unconscious lassitude turns from me; it suffer furtiny; it seems to deny, by a mocking glance, truto disoy and cs pride and reserve only confirm me in my opinion. the eye is favourable.
“As to t delig times in laug is disposed to impart all t t on muc experiences. Mobile and flexible, it ended to be compressed in ternal silence of solitude: it is a mouten, and ion for its interlocutor. t feature too is propitious.
“I see no enemy to a fortunate issue but in t broo say,—‘I can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstances require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I reasure born raneous delig a price I cannot afford to give.’ ts firm and let t a judgment sill , and ting vote in every decision. Strong I s still small voice s tates of conscience.’
“ell said, foreion sed. I plans I deem ttended to t one dreg of sected; and I do not sacrifice, sorroion—suc my taste. I er, not to bligo earn gratitude, not to ears of blood—no, nor of brine: my must be in smiles, in endearments, in s— t e delirium. I so protract t ad infinitum; but I dare not. So far I ed as I in; but furt try me beyond my strengt’.”
ill? t, ure, and all o me as my oongue. I got up, but did not go. I looked; I stirred t s and o depart. ted retc: roused no for discoveries, I at once noticed t rically turned; a broad ring flastle finger, and stooping for it, and sa turned from me—on trary, t he head advanced.
“ell, Jane, do you knohe familiar voice.
“Only take off then—”
“But tring is in a knot—help me.”
“Break it, sir.”
“ter stepped out of his disguise.
“Norange idea!”
“But , e you think so?”
“it have managed well.”
“But not h you?”
“You did not act ter of a gipsy h me.”
“ cer did I act? My own?”
“No; some unaccountable one. In s, I believe you rying to dra—or in; you alking nonsense to make me talk nonsense. It is scarcely fair, sir.”
“Do you forgive me, Jane?”
“I cannot tell till I it all over. If, on reflection, I find I o no great absurdity, I sry to forgive you; but it right.”
“O—very careful, very sensible.”
I reflected, and t, on t ; but, indeed, I from tervieed. I kneune-tellers did not express ted y to conceal ures. But my mind living enigma, t mystery of mysteries, as I considered of Mr. Rocer.
“ell,” said are you musing about? does t grave smile signify?”
“onder and self-congratulation, sir. I o retire now, I suppose?”
“No; stay a moment; and tell me he drawing-room yonder are doing.”
“Discussing the gipsy, I daresay.”
“Sit do me t me.”
“I ter not stay long, sir; it must be near eleven o’clock. Oer, t a stranger this morning?”
“A stranger!—no; ed no one; is he gone?”
“No; ake ty of installing ill you returned.”
“the devil he did! Did he give his name?”
“ Indies; from Spanisohink.”
Mr. Rocer anding near me; aken my o lead me to a c a convulsive grip; tly a spasm caugh.
“Mason!—t Indies!” one one migomaton to enounce its single Indies!” erated; and over times, groervals of speaking, o know w he was doing.
“Do you feel ill, sir?” I inquired.
“Jane, I’ve got a blo a blow, Jane!” aggered.
“Oh, lean on me, sir.”
“Jane, you offered me your s me now.”
“Yes, sir, yes; and my arm.”
do beside ; gazing on me, at time, troubled and dreary look.
“My little friend!” said island rouble, and danger, and ions removed from me.”
“Can I o serve you.”
“Jane, if aid is ed, I’ll seek it at your .”
“tell me o do,—I’ll try, at least, to do it.”
“Fetc supper tell me if Mason is he is doing.”
I . I found all ty in t supper, as Mr. Rocer seated at table,—taken es and glasses in ter and conversation ed. Mr. Mason stood near talking to Colonel and Mrs. Dent, and appeared as merry as any of tc I aking a liberty, I daresay), and I returned to the library.
Mr. Rocer’s extreme pallor ern. ook the glass from my hand.
“o your rant spirit!” ents and returned it to me. “ are they doing, Jane?”
“Laugalking, sir.”
“t look grave and mysterious, as if trange?”
“Not at all: ts and gaiety.”
“And Mason?”
“oo.”
“If all t at me, w would you do, Jane?”
“turn t of the room, sir, if I could.”
if I o go to t me coldly, and hem?”
“I rat, sir: I saying h you.”
“to comfort me?”
“Yes, sir, to comfort you, as well as I could.”
“And if to me?”
“I, probably, s t it.”
“then, you could dare censure for my sake?”
“I could dare it for the sake of any friend who deserved my adherence; as you, I am sure, do.”
“Go back noo tep quietly up to Mason, and w Mr. Rocer is come and wiso see hen leave me.”
“Yes, sir.”
I did . tared at me as I passed straig Mr. Mason, delivered to t upstairs.
At a late er I ime, I ors repair to tinguiser’s voice, and his is your room.”
ones set my at ease. I was soon asleep.