as though an outward type of the peacefulness and
joy which made a heaven of the home of the young married folk.
Considine's life had not been an eventful one. The only disturbing
element which he had ever known was in his wooing of Mary Winston, and
the long-continued objection of her ambitious parents, who expected a
brilliant match for their only daughter. When Mr. and Mrs. Winston had
discovered the attachment of the young barrister, they had tried to
keep the young people apart by sending their daughter away for a long
round of visits, having made her promise not to correspond with her
lover during her absence. Love, however, had stood the test. Neither
absence nor neglect seemed to cool the passion of the young man, and
jealousy seemed a thing unknown to his sanguine nature; so, after a
long period of waiting, the parents had given in, and the young folk
were married.

They had been living in the cottage a few months, and were just
beginning to feel at home. Gerald Burleigh, Joshua's old college chum,
and himself a sometime victim of Mary's beauty, had arrived a week
before, to stay with them for as long a time as he could tear himself
away from his work in London.

When her husband had quite disappeared Mary went into the house, and,
sitting down at the piano, gave an hour to Mendelssohn.

It was but a short walk across the common, and before the cigars
required renewing the two men had reached the gipsy camp. The place
was as picturesque as gipsy camps--when in villages and when business
is good--usually are. There were some few persons round the fire,
investing their money in prophecy, and a large number of others,
poorer or more parsimonious, who stayed just outside the bounds but
near enough to see all that went on.

As the two gentlemen approached, the villagers, who knew Joshua, made
way a little, and a pretty, keen-eyed gipsy girl tripped up and asked
to tell their fortunes. Joshua held out his hand, but the girl,
without seeming to see it, stared at his face in a very odd manner.
Gerald nudged him:

'You must cross her hand with silver,' he said. 'It is one of the most
important parts of the mystery.' Joshua took from his pocket a
half-crown and held it out to her, but, without looking at it, she
answered:

'You have to cross the gipsy's hand with gold.'

Gerald laughed. 'You are at a premium as a subject,' he said. Joshua
was of the kind of man--the universal kind--who can tolerate being
stared