her.'

Joshua's lips unconsciously hardened as he answered: 'My dear fellow, I
would not have a secret from my wife. Why, it would be the beginning of
a new order of things between us. We have no secrets from each other. If
we ever have, then you may begin to look out for something odd between
us.'

'Still,' said Gerald, 'at the risk of unwelcome interference, I say
again be warned in time.'

'The gipsy's very words,' said Joshua. 'You and she seem quite of one
accord. Tell me, old man, is this a put-up thing? You told me of the
gipsy camp--did you arrange it all with Her Majesty?' This was said with
an air of bantering earnestness. Gerald assured him that he only heard
of the camp that morning; but he made fun of every answer of his friend,
and, in the process of this raillery, the time passed, and they entered
the cottage.

Mary was sitting at the piano but not playing. The dim twilight had
waked some very tender feelings in her breast, and her eyes were full of
gentle tears. When the men came in she stole over to her husband's side
and kissed him. Joshua struck a tragic attitude.

'Mary,' he said in a deep voice, 'before you approach me, listen to the
words of Fate. The Stars have spoken and the doom is sealed.'

'What is it, dear? Tell me the fortune, but do not frighten me.'

'Not at all, my dear; but there is a truth which it is well that you