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up again; he did it because she prophesied that I should not die in my present faith, and that I was born for great things: I wish I knew what the great things were to be. If the old witch should return, how surprised she would be at her own wisdom!" A shriek of horror interrupted Manuela's words.

"It is black art that plays such tricks!" she cried, and shrank close to me in fear. I glanced at the door: there stood an old gypsy woman leaning on a staff, and asking me for alms with a shrewd laugh. I soothed Manuela, who trembled all over; she recovered herself, however, and approaching the gypsy bravely, asked:

"Do you know me?"

"Why not, then?" answered the old woman, and raised her grinning face to hers. "Look, I have a good memorial of you—that scar over my left eye, I got it at your house in Seville. What do you say now to my prophecies? are they not fulfilled?"

"I do not know," answered Manuela.

"You don't know. Ay, ay, but I know."

"Thank you very much for your wisdom," answered Manuela, handing her a present.

"Just a minute yet: give me that little velvet hand; I know many another thing."

Manuela only half opposed her. The old woman chuckled so much when she had looked at the lines on the hand for a time, that her stick fell from her grasp.