hat rule thy
destiny!"

Involuntarily Love obeyed, placing the silver on the extended palm, that
seemed to tremble as he cried, angrily:

"The silver is for charity, not that I believe any of your ill-timed
jargon."

The tall gypsy, whose brow was crowned with silvery tresses, and through
whose black mask glittered fierce black eyes, answered, gibingly:

"Whether you believe or not, your fate will be the same. Listen: you are
a favorite of fortune, and deeply beloved by two young girls. One is as
fair as a summer morn, the other dark and splendid as a moonlit summer
night. Your heart inclines to the blonde, but she is false as hell; and
if you wed her, you will rue your mistake throughout your life. The
stars command you to wed the dark beauty your friends have chosen for
you, and you will be blissfully happy."

Love Ellsworth stared curiously at the speaker, then laughed, mockingly:

"'How like an angel's sounds the tongue of woman,
When pleading in another's cause her own!'"

"What mean you?" hissed the veiled gypsy, defiantly; and he answered by
snatching a ring from her extended hand, as he cried, gibingly:

"I know you, Miss Peyton, by your voice and this ruby ring that you
borrowed from your aunt--an heirloom in the Ellsworth family. I shall
keep it to prove to Dainty that it was not a real gypsy who tried to
frighten her to death, but only her affectionate cousin masquerading in
a false guise in order to further her own plans."

And, with a scornful laugh, he left the discomfited plotter and returned
to Dainty and the girls, saying, gayly, as he held up the ruby ring:

"How cleverly Miss Peyton has fooled you all, masquerading as the gypsy,
and promising all sorts of dreadful things just to witness your terrors.
But she could not deceive me. I knew her at once by her voice, and this
ruby ring, that I snatched from her hand just to convince you all that
it was no gypsy, but simply Miss Olive Peyton, who knows no more about
the future than any of us."

CHAPTER XI.

LOVE'S PRESENTIMENTS.

"Oh, friendships falter when misfortunes frown,
The blossoms vanish when the leaves turn brown,
The shells lie stranded when the tide goes down,
But you, dear heart, are ever true.
Let the silver mingle with your curls of gold,
Let the years grow dreary, and the world wax old,
But the love I bear to you will ne'er grow cold,
I love you, darling, only you!"