“Oh! that is jolly.  Well, I never thought the girl was clever enough to write that.  And there are some excellent rhymes in it, ‘passed he’ rhyming with ‘nasty,’ and ‘rosary’ with ‘poser, eh;’ and how well you recite it.”

“Oh, I recited it better at the harvest supper; and you have no idea how the farmers enjoyed it.  They know the place so well, and it interested them on that account.  They understood it all.”

John sat as if enchanted,—­by Kitty’s almost childish grace, her enthusiasm for her friend’s poem, and her genuine enjoyment of it; by the abrupt hills, mysterious now in sunset and legend; by the vast plains so blue and so boundless:  out of the thought of the littleness of life, of which they were a symbol, there came the thought of the greatness of love.

“Won’t you cross the poor gipsy’s palm with a bit of silver, my pretty gentleman, and she will tell you your fortune and that of your pretty lady?”

Kitty uttered a startled cry, and turning they found themselves facing a strong, black-eyed girl.  She repeated her question.

“What do you think, Kitty, would you like to have your fortune told?”

Kitty laughed.  “It would be rather fun,” she said.

She did not know what was coming, and she listened to the usual story, full by the way of references to John—­of a handsome young man who would woo her, win her, and give her happiness, children, and wealth.

John threw the girl a shilling.  She withdrew.  They watched her passing through the furze.  The silence about them was immense.  Then John spoke: 

“What the gipsy said is quite true; I did not dare to tell you so before.”

“What do you mean, John?”

“I mean that I am in love with you, will you love me?”

“You in love with me, John; it is quite absurd—­I thought you hated girls.”

“Never mind that, Kitty, say you will have me; make the gipsy’s words come true.”

“Gipsies’ words always come true.”

“Then you will marry me?”

“I never thought about marriage.  When do you want me to marry you?  I am only seventeen?”

“Oh! when you like, later on, only say you will be mine, that you will be mistress of Thornby Place one day, that is all I want.”

“Then you don’t want to pull the house down any more.”

“No, no; a thousand times no!  Say you will be my wife one of these days.”

“Very well then, one of these days....”  “And I may tell my mother of your promise to-night?...  It will make her so happy.”

“Of course you may tell her, John, but I don’t think she will believe it.”

“Why should she not believe it?”

“I don’t know,” said Kitty, laughing, “but how funny, was it not, that the gipsy girl should guess right?”

“Yes, it was indeed.  I wanted to tell you before, but I hadn’t the courage; and I might never have found the courage if it had not been for that gipsy.”