"For killing of Hearne, may his bones rest sweetly."

Miss Greeby suppressed an exclamation. "She accuses Lady Agnes of laying a trap by writing a letter, and says that Mr. Lambert fired the shot."

"Avali! Avali!" Mother c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l nodded vigorously, but did not interrupt her preparations for departure. "That she would say, since she loves the Gorgio, and hates the rani. A rope round her neck to set the rye free to make Chaldea--my curses on her--his true wife."

"She couldn't have fired the shot herself, you know," went on Miss Greeby in a musing manner. "For then she would remove an obstacle to Mr.

Lambert marrying Lady Agnes."

"Blessings on her for a kind, Gentile lady," said Gentilla, piously, and looking more respectable than ever, since the lurking devils had disappeared. "But Chaldea is artful, and knows the rye."

"What do you mean?"

"This, my lady. Hearne, who was the Gorgio Pine, had the angel to wife, but he did not hope to live long because of illness."

Miss Greeby nodded. "Consumption, Pine told me."

"If he had died natural," pursued Mother c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l, pulling hard at a strap, "maybe the Gentile lady would have married the golden rye, whom she loves. But by the violent death, Chaldea has tangled up both in her knots, and if they wed she will make trouble."

"So she says. But can she?"

"Hai! But she's a deep one, ma'am, believe me when I say so," Mother c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l nodded sapiently. "But foolish trouble has she given herself, when the death of Hearne natural, or by the pistol-shot would stop the marriage."

"What do you mean?" inquired Miss Greeby once more.

"You Gentiles are fools," said Gentilla, politely. "For you put other things before true love. Hearne, as Pine, had much gold, and that he left to his wife should she not marry the golden rye."

"How do you know that?"

"Chaldea was told so by the dead, and told me, my lady. Now the angel of the big house would give up the gold to marry the rye, for her heart is all for him. 'But,' says he, and tell me if I'm wrong. Says he, 'No. If I make you my romi that would beggar you and fair it would not be, for a Romany rye to do!' So, my lady, the red gold parts them, because it's red money."

"Red money?"

"Blood money. The taint of blood is on the wealth of the dead one, and so it divides by a curse the true hearts of the living. You see, my lady?"

Miss Greeby did see, and the more readily, since she had heard Lambert express exactly the sentiments with which the old gypsy credited him.

An overstrained feeling of honor prevented him in any case from making Agnes his wife, whether the death had come by violence or by natural causes. But it was amazing that Gentilla should 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 c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l 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 c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l 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 c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l 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 c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l. "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," said Miss Greeby tartly. "Chaldea will make trouble."

"The child won't. I can manage her."

Miss Greeby hitched up her broad shoulders contemptuously. "She has managed you just now."

"There are ways and ways, and when the hour arrives, the sun rises to scatter the darkness," said Gentilla mystically. "Let the child win for the moment, for my turn comes."

"Then you know something?"

"What I know mustn't be said till the hour strikes. But content yourself, my Gorgious lady, with knowing that the child will make no trouble."

"She has parted with the letter?"

"I know of that letter. Hearne showed it to me, and would make for the big house, although I told him fair not to doubt his true wife."

"How did he get the letter?"

"That's tellings," said Mother c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l with a wink of her lively eye.

"I've a good mind to take you to the police, and then you'd be forced to say what you know," said Miss Greeby crossly, for the vague hints irritated her not a little.

The old woman cackled in evident enjoyment. "Do that, and the pot will boil over, ma'am. I wish to help the angel rani who nursed me when I was sick, and I have debts to pay to Chaldea. Both I do in my own witchly way."

"You will help me to learn the truth?"

"Surely! Surely! my Gorgious one. And now," Mother c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l gave a tug at the donkey's mouth, "I goes my ways."

"But where can I find you again?"