heart."

Bright and keen was the flash which shot over the countenance of the one
for whom this prediction was made, as he listened to it with a fondness
for which his reason rebuked him.

He turned aside with a sigh, which did not escape the gypsy, and bathed
his face in the water which the provident hand of the good woman had set
out for his lavations.

"Well," said his host, when the youth had finished his brief toilet,
"suppose we breathe the fresh air, while Lucy smooths your bed and
prepares the breakfast?"

"With all my heart," replied the youth, and they descended the steps
which led into the wood. It was a beautiful, fresh morning; the air was
like a draught from a Spirit's fountain, and filled the heart with new
youth and the blood with a rapturous delight; the leaves--the green,
green leaves of spring--were quivering on the trees, among which the
happy birds fluttered and breathed the gladness of their souls in song.
While the dewdrops that--

"strewed
A baptism o'er the flowers"--

gave back in their million mirrors the reflected smiles of the cloudless
and rejoicing sun.

"Nature," said the gypsy, "has bestowed on her children a gorgeous
present in such a morning."

"True," said the youth; "and you, of us two, perhaps only deserve it; as
for me, when I think of the long road of dust, heat, and toil, that lies
before me, I could almost wish to stop here and ask an admission into
the gypsy's tents."

"You could not do a wiser thing!" said the gypsy, gravely.

"But fate leaves me no choice," continued the youth, as seriously as
if he were in earnest; "and I must quit you immediately after I have a
second time tasted of your hospitable fare."

"If it must be so," answered the gypsy, "I will see you, at least, a
mile or two on your road." The youth thanked him for a promise which his
curiosity made acceptable, and they turned once more to the caravan.

The meal, however obtained, met with as much honour as it could possibly
have received from the farmer from whom its materials were borrowed.

It was not without complacency that the worthy pair beheld the notice
their guest lavished upon a fair, curly-headed boy of about three years
old, the sole child and idol of the gypsy potentates. But they did not
perceive, when the youth rose to depart, that he slipped into the folds
of the child's dress a ring of some value, the only one he possessed.

"And now," said he, after having thanked hi