The Gipsy: A Tale (Vols I & II). G. P. R. James
But do not look angry, gentleman. I will tell you your fortune presently, and will tell it truly, if you will do me a piece of service, of which I stand in need too--something that I have promised to do, though not for a lady with dark eyes; and you seem sent here on purpose to aid in it."
Now Manners was half amused and half angry; but it is probable the anger would have got the better of the other feeling, had not his curiosity been excited also by the language, the manners, and the request of the gipsy, whose whole demeanour was something quite new to him. He replied, however, "I never undertake to do any thing without knowing the precise nature thereof; but if you will tell me what you desire, and I find it reasonable, I will not, of course, refuse."
"Yes, yes! you shall hear what it is," answered the gipsy; "nor will you find the request unreasonable. But come hither a little away from the people, for they need not know it." Thus speaking, he led the way towards the mound from which Manners had made his reconnoissance of the common; and, as he went, he kept his right hand in his bosom, but spoke not a word. At length, when they were fully out of earshot, Manners himself stopped, thinking that he had humoured his companion's caprices far enough.
"Now, my good fellow," he said, "nobody can either see or hear, unless they follow for the purpose. Pray what is it you wish me to do for you?"
"You are a friend of Mr. De Vaux, are you not?" said the gipsy abruptly, stopping and turning round as Manners spoke.
"As far as esteeming him highly, and desiring to serve him with all my heart, can make me so," answered Manners, now more particularly surprised, "I believe I may call myself his dear friend: but what if I be so?"
"If you be really a friend of Mr. Edward de Vaux," said the gipsy, "you will not object to take a letter to him."
"Why," answered Manners, "although I am not exactly either a private courier or a postman, yet if your request stops there, I can have no objection to do as you desire; reserving to myself, of course, the right of telling him where I got the letter, and the circumstances that attended my receiving it."
"That you will do, if you please," replied the gipsy; "but the request does not stop there. There are conditions in regard to the delivery of the letter which you must observe, and that punctually."
Manners smiled. "This is all very extraordinary," he said; "you speak in somewhat of a dictatorial tone, my good friend; and it is not easy for me to comprehend what business one of your class and nation can have with my friend De Vaux, so soon after his return from other lands."
"Trouble not yourself with that, Colonel Manners," answered the gipsy; and then added, seeing that something like a cloud was gathering on his auditor's brow, "if I have offended you, sir, I am sorry: such was not my purpose; and, believe me, I may know what is due both to you and myself better than you think. You are the commander of one of the King of England's regiments, and I am a poor gipsy; but you come to make a request to me, for granting which--as every thing is barter or robbery in this world--for granting which I require something of you. So far we are as much equals as in the enjoyment of the free air, and yonder bright sunshine, and this piece of common ground. Whether there be any other difference between us, in point of higher or lower, God knows, and he alone. Thus, then, hear me patiently, while I tell you the conditions of my bargain; and afterward I will do your bidding concerning your future fortunes--whether you esteem my skill or not, being your business, and not mine, as you seek it without my offering it."
"I believe you are right," replied Colonel Manners, beginning more fully to appreciate the character of him with whom he spoke; "go on, and let me hear your conditions in regard to the delivery of this letter, which is, I suppose, the object that you hold in your bosom."
"It is not a pistol," said the gipsy, producing the letter.
"I did not suppose that it was," replied Colonel Manners; "and had it been so, it would have been a matter of much indifference to me: but now for your conditions."
"They are few and simple," answered the gipsy; "I require, or request, you to give this into Mr. De Vaux's own hand, and to choose a moment when he is not only alone, but when he is likely to have an opportunity of reading it in private; and though you may tell him when and how you received it, and add what comments you like, you must not indulge in the same tattle to other people; but must keep silence on all concerning it."
"Your conditions are not very difficult," replied Colonel Manners; "I will undertake them. Give me the letter. Upon my honour," he added, seeing that Pharold hesitated, "I will do exactly as you have desired."
The man gave him the letter, which was cleaner, neater, and, as far as the address went, better written than the hands from which it came would have led one to anticipate. The moment he had done so, Pharold uttered a long, loud whistle, which brought a little yellow urchin of ten years old to their side, as fast as a pair of bare feet could carry him. "Thou mayst go," said the gipsy; "and make haste." The boy set off like lightning on the road which led to the river, and the gipsy again turned to Colonel Manners. "Give me your hand, sir," he said.
Colonel Manners did as he desired, smiling while he did so at a certain lurking feeling of the ridicule of his situation, which he could not repress. "If any of my old fellow-soldiers were to see me here," he thought, "taking counsel with a gipsy upon my future fate and prospects, they would certainly think Charles Manners mad." The gipsy, however, gazed seriously upon his hand, and then raised his eyes to the other's face, without the slightest expression in his own countenance which could raise a suspicion that he was seeking to play upon credulity.
"Colonel Manners," said Pharold, "before I tell you what I read here, listen to me for one moment. Most people who come to us on such an errand smile as they give us their hand; some because they believe us thoroughly, and affect by a laugh to show they do not believe at all; while some, who really do not believe, smile out of vain conceit in their own superior strength of mind: but do you remember that this that we practise is, when properly practised, a science in which we have ourselves the most confident faith. We never inquire afterward whether what we have predicted has proved true or not, for we are always sure that it must do so: but, at all events, such confidence in our own knowledge cannot spring from nothing."
Manners could have easily found a reply in favour of his own side of the question, but he did not think it worth while to argue logically upon chiromancy with a gipsy, although that gipsy might be somewhat superior to others of his tribe; and, therefore, without answering the arguments of Pharold, he remained in silence, while the other again turned a very steadfast glance upon his extended hand.
"Colonel Manners," said the gipsy at length, "if I read right, you have been a fortunate man."
"And, in some respects, an unfortunate one," rejoined his auditor, "though, in truth, I have no great reason to complain."
"Far more fortunate than unfortunate," answered the gipsy. "Here are but three crosses in all your life as yet; two so near the beginning, that you could not have felt them; and one--a deep one--much more lately."
Colonel Manners smiled. "In the past you are certainly not far wrong: but it is the future I wish to hear: what of it?"
"You mock us, sir," said the gipsy, eying him. "However, you shall hear your fate as it is. You shall be fortunate and unfortunate."
"That is the common lot of human nature," rejoined Colonel Manners.
"But herein does your fate differ from the common lot of human nature," replied the gipsy: "you shall be no longer fortunate in those things wherein you have hitherto found success; for you shall do all that you think you will not do; and prosper where you neither hope nor strive."
"That is certainly a strange fate," answered Manners; "for I have ever found that success is a coy goddess, who needs all our efforts to obtain her smiles, and even then gives them but sparingly."
"It is a strange fate, and yet, in some sense, it is not," answered the gipsy; "your painters rightly represent Fortune as a woman, though they might as well have left her eyes unbandaged; for it is neither new nor marvellous to see woman fly from those that pursue her, and cast herself into the arms of those who