ear the malter
stirring above; the log cracked and burst into flame. A frown began to
gather on the vintner's brow and a sweat in his palm.

"I see many strange things here," said the palmist, in a brooding tone.

"And what do you see?" asked Gretchen eagerly.

"I see very little of vineyards. I see riches, pomp; I see vast armies
moving against each other; there is the smell of powder and fire;
devastation. I do not see you, young man, among those who tramp with
guns on their shoulders. You ride; there is gold on your arms. You will
become great; but I do not understand. I do not understand," closing her
eyes for a moment.

The vintner sat upright, his chin truculent, his arm tense.

"War!" he murmured.

Gretchen's heart sank; there was joy in his voice.

"Go on, grandmother," she whispered.

"Shall I live?" asked the vintner, whose belief in prescience till this
hour had been of a negative quality.

"There is nothing here save death in old age, vintner." Her gnarled hand
seized his in a vise. "Do you mean well by my girl?"

"Grandmother!" Gretchen remonstrated.

"Silence!"

The vintner withdrew his hand slowly.

"Is this the hand of a liar and a cheat? Is it the hand of a dishonest
man?"

"There is no dishonesty there; but there are lines I do not understand.
Oh, I can not see everything; it is like seeing people in a mist. They
pass instantly and disappear. But I repeat, do you mean well by my
girl?"

"Before God and His angels I love her; before all mankind I would gladly
declare it. Gretchen shall never come to harm at these hands. I swear
it."

"I believe you." The old woman's form relaxed its tenseness.

"Thanks, grandmother," said Gretchen. "Now, read what my hand says."

The old woman took the hand. She loved Gretchen.

"I read that you are gentle and brave and cheerful, that you have a
loyal heart and a pure mind. I read that you are in love and that some
day you will be happy." A smile went over her face, a kind of winter
sunset.

"You are not looking at my hand at all, grandmother," said Gretchen in
reproach.

"I do not need, my child. Your life is written in your face." The
grandmother spoke again to the vintner. "So you will take her away from
me?"

"Will it be necessary?" he returned quietly. "Have you any objection to
my becoming your foster grandchild, such as Gretchen is?"

The old woman made no answer. She closed her eyes and did not open them.
Gretchen motioned that th