ressive face and hugged his
hand every now and then, as various points in the narrative struck her.
At the end she dropped his hand and returned back to her chair
chuckling. "It's a sad dukkerin for the foxy lady," said Gentilla,
grinning like the witch she was. "Hanged she will be, and rightful
it is to be so!"

"I agree with you," replied Lambert relentlessly. "Your evidence and
that of Silver can hang her, certainly. Yet, if she is arrested, and the
whole tale comes out in the newspapers, think of the disgrace to my
family."

Mother Cockleshell nodded. "That's as true as true, my golden rye," she
said pondering. "And I wish not to hurt you and the rani, who was kind
to me. I go away," she rose to her feet briskly, "and I think. What will
you do?"

"I can't say," said Lambert, doubtfully and irresolutely. "I must
consult my wife. Miss Greeby should certainly suffer for her crime, and
yet--"

"Aye! Aye! Aye! The boro rye," she meant Garvington, "is a bad one for
sure, as we know. Shame to him is shame to you, and I wouldn't have the
rani miserable--the good kind one that she is. Wait! aye, wait, my
precious gentleman, and we shall see."

"You will say nothing in the meantime," said Lambert, stopping her at
the door, and anxious to know exactly what were her intentions.

"I have waited long for vengeance and I can wait longer, sir," said
Mother Cockleshell, becoming less the gypsy and more the respectable
almshouse widow. "Depend upon my keeping quiet until--"

"Until what? Until when?"

"Never you mind," said the woman mysteriously. "Them as sins must suffer
for the sin. But not you and her as is innocent."

"No violence, Gentilla," said the young man, alarmed less the lawless
gypsy nature should punish Miss Greeby privately.

"I swear there shall be no violence, rye. Wait, for the child is making
mischief, and until we knows of her doings we must be silent. Give me
your gripper, my dearie," she seized his wrist and bent back the palm of
the hand to trace the lines with a dirty finger. "Good fortune comes to
you and to her, my golden rye," she droned in true gypsy fashion.
"Money, and peace, and honor, and many children, to carry on a stainless
name. Your son shall you see, and your son's son, my noble gentleman,
and with your romi shall you go with happiness to the grave," she
dropped the hand. "So be it for a true dukkerin, and remember Gentilla
Stanley when the luck comes true."

"But Mother, Mother,"