d know this, and Miss
Greeby wonderingly asked her how she came by such knowledge. The
respectable widow chuckled.

"I have witchly ways, ma'am, and the golden rye has talked many a time
to me in my tent, when I told him of the Gorgious lady's goodness to me
when ill. They love--aye, that is sure--but the money divides their
hearts, and that is foolish. Chaldea had no need to shoot to keep them
apart."

"How do you know she shot Pine?"

"Oh, I can say nothing the Poknees would listen to," said Mother
Cockleshell readily. "For I speak only as I think, and not as I know.
But the child was impatient for joy, and hoped by placing the cruel will
between true hearts to gain that of the golden rye for her own part. But
that she will not. Ha! Ha! Nor you, my lady, nor you."

"Me?" Miss Greeby colored even redder than she was by nature.

Gentilla looked at her shrewdly. "La! La! La! La!" she croaked. "Age
brings a mighty wisdom. They were fools to throw me out," and she jerked
her grizzled head in the direction of the caravans and tents.

"Don't talk rubbish, you old donkey! Mr. Lambert is only my friend."

"You're a woman and he's a man," said Mother Cockleshell sententiously.

"We are chums, pals, whatever you like to call us. I want to see him
happy."

"He will never be happy, my lady, unless he marries the rani. And death,
by bringing the money between their true love, has divided them forever,
unless the golden rye puts his heart before his fear of silly chatter
for them he moves amongst. The child was right to shoot Hearne, so far,
although she could have waited and gained the same end. The rye is free
to marry her, or to marry you, ma'am, but never to marry the angel,
unless--" Mother Cockleshell adjusted the bundle carefully on the
donkey, and then cut a long switch from the tree.

"I don't want to marry Mr. Lambert," said Miss Greeby decisively. "And
I'll take care that Chaldea doesn't!"

Gentilla chuckled again. "Oh, trust you for that."

"As to Chaldea shooting Pine--"

"Leave it to me, leave it to me, ma'am," said the old gypsy with a
grandiloquent wave of her dirty hand.

"But I wish to learn the truth and save Lady Agnes from this trouble."

"You wish to save her?" chuckled Mother Cockleshell. "And not the golden
rye? Ah well, my angel, there are women, and women." She faced round,
and the humor died out of her wrinkled face. "You wish for help and so
have come to see me? Is it not so?"

"Yes,"