ou wealth. Beware how you play your
cards. I see by your hand that you just escape many good things by this
fickle nature. I warn you against it, but might as well tell the wind
not to blow. There is one thing, however, may save you--the stars were
in happy conjunction at your birth. The influence of the house of Saturn
does not affect you. I see little more at present. Much of your future
depends on yourself. To you is given, more than to many, the controlling
of your fate. You may make or mar your fortune. No, senor," as H. C.
laughed and tried to glide a substantial coin into her hand, "I do
not tell fortunes for money to-day. It is a _festa_ with our tribe,
almost a sacred day, the anniversary of a great historical event. To-day
we do all for love; but I should much like your photograph."

[Illustration: VALLEY OF MONTSERRAT.]

H. C. chanced to have one in his pocket-book, which he had once put
aside for the Madrid houri who married the Russian nobleman. This he
presented with much grace to the enraptured Sibyl. Their heads were very
close together at the moment; there seemed a clinking sound in the air.
We happened to be consulting the time, and on looking up, the Sibyl's
face seemed flushed and conscious, and H. C.'s poetically pale
complexion had put on a delicate pink. This was a little too
suspicious--even to our unsuspecting mind--and with a hasty bow to the
interesting assembly, and wishing them all good appetites and fair
fortunes, we went on our way. Looking back once, the charming Sibyl was
still gazing towards us with a very sentimental expression, whilst H. C.
for the next ten minutes fell into silence.

The day wore on to evening. We watched the shades of night gathering
over the vast valley and distant hills. Everything grew hazy and
indistinct, and finally gave place to a world of darkness and mystery.
The outlines of Mons Serratus loomed upwards against the night sky. The
stars came out flashing and brilliant as they travelled along in their
awful and majestic silence. The great constellations were strongly
marked. Here and there lights twinkled in the monastery, and in the
various houses of the settlement. Where the gipsy party had encamped,
silence and solitude now reigned. A black mark told where the tripod had
held the kettle and betrayed what had been. The whole encampment had
returned to the lower world by the evening train. We had watched them
enter a special carriage, which they filled to o