by Bram Stoker
The Gipsy Prophecy
'I really think,' said the Doctor, 'that, at any rate, one of usshould go and try whether or not the thing is an imposture.'
'Good!' said Considine. 'After dinner we will take our cigars andstroll over to the camp.'
Accordingly, when the dinner was over, and the _La Tour_ finished,Joshua Considine and his friend, Dr Burleigh, went over to the eastside of the moor, where the gipsy encampment lay. As they wereleaving, Mary Considine, who had walked as far as the end of thegarden where it opened into the laneway, called after her husband:
'Mind, Joshua, you are to give them a fair chance, but don't give themany clue to a fortune--and don't you get flirting with any of thegipsy maidens--and take care to keep Gerald out of harm.'
For answer Considine held up his hand, as if taking a stage oath, andwhistled the air of the old song, 'The Gipsy Countess.' Gerald joinedin the strain, and then, breaking into merry laughter, the two menpassed along the laneway to the common, turning now and then to wavetheir hands to Mary, who leaned over the gate, in the twilight,looking after them.
It was a lovely evening in the summer; the very air was full of restand quiet happiness, as though an outward type of the peacefulness andjoy which made a heaven of the home of the young married folk.Considine's life had not been an eventful one. The only disturbingelement which he had ever known was in his wooing of Mary Winston, andthe long-continued objection of her ambitious parents, who expected abrilliant match for their only daughter. When Mr. and Mrs. Winston haddiscovered the attachment of the young barrister, they had tried tokeep the young people apart by sending their daughter away for a longround of visits, having made her promise not to correspond with herlover during her absence. Love, however, had stood the test. Neitherabsence nor neglect seemed to cool the passion of the young man, andjealousy seemed a thing unknown to his sanguine nature; so, after along period of waiting, the parents had given in, and the young folkwere married.
They had been living in the cottage a few months, and were justbeginning to feel at home. Gerald Burleigh, Joshua's old college chum,and himself a sometime victim of Mary's beauty, had arrived a weekbefore, to stay with them for as long a time as he could tear himselfaway from his work in London.
When her husband had quite disappeared Mary went into the house, and,sitting down at the piano, gave an hour to Mendelssohn.
It was but a short walk across the common, and before the cigarsrequired renewing the two men had reached the gipsy camp. The placewas as picturesque as gipsy camps--when in villages and when businessis good--usually are. There were some few persons round the fire,investing their money in prophecy, and a large number of others,poorer or more parsimonious, who stayed just outside the bounds butnear enough to see all that went on.
As the two gentlemen approached, the villagers, who knew Joshua, madeway a little, and a pretty, keen-eyed gipsy girl tripped up and askedto tell their fortunes. Joshua held out his hand, but the girl,without seeming to see it, stared at his face in a very odd manner.Gerald nudged him:
'You must cross her hand with silver,' he said. 'It is one of the mostimportant parts of the mystery.' Joshua took from his pocket ahalf-crown and held it out to her, but, without looking at it, sheanswered:
'You have to cross the gipsy's hand with gold.'
Gerald laughed. 'You are at a premium as a subject,' he said. Joshuawas of the kind of man--the universal kind--who can tolerate beingstared at by a pretty girl; so, with some little deliberation, heanswered:
'All right; here you are, my pretty girl; but you must give me a realgood fortune for it,' and he handed her a half sovereign, which shetook, saying:
'It is not for me to give good fortune or bad, but only to read whatthe Stars have said.' She took his right hand and turned it palmupward; but the instant her eyes met it she dropped it as though ithad been red hot, and, with a startled look, glided swiftly away.Lifting the curtain of the large tent, which occupied the centre ofthe camp, she disappeared within.
'Sold again!' said the cynical Gerald. Joshua stood a little amazed,and not altogether satisfied. They both watched the large tent. In afew moments there emerged from the opening not the young girl, but astately looking woman of middle age and commanding presence.
The instant she appeared the whole camp seemed to stand still. Theclamour of tongues, the laughter and noise of the work were, for asecond or two, arrested, and every man or woman who sat, or crouched,or lay, stood up and faced the imperial looking gipsy.
'The Queen, of course,' murmured Gerald. 'We are in luck tonight.' Thegipsy Queen threw a searching glance around the camp, and then,without hesitating an instant, came straight over and stood beforeJoshua.
'Hold out your hand,' she said in a commanding tone.
Again Gerald spoke, _sotto voce_: 'I have not been spoken to in thatway since I was at school.'
'Your hand must be crossed with gold.'
'A hundred per cent. at this game,' whispered Gerald, as Joshua laidanother half sovereign on his upturned palm.
The gipsy looked at the hand with knitted brows; then suddenly lookingup into his face, said:
'Have you a strong will--have you a true heart that can be brave forone you love?'
'I hope so; but I am afraid I have not vanity enough to say "yes".'
'Then I will answer for you; for I read resolution in yourface--resolution desperate and determined if need be. You have a wifeyou love?'
'Yes,' emphatically.
'Then leave her at once--never see her face again. Go from her now,while love is fresh and your heart is free from wicked intent. Goquick--go far, and never see her face again!'
Joshua drew away his hand quickly, and said, 'Thank you!' stiffly butsarcastically, as he began to move away.
'I say!' said Gerald, 'you're not going like that, old man; no use inbeing indignant with the Stars or their prophet--and, moreover, yoursovereign--what of it? At least, hear the matter out.'
'Silence, ribald!' commanded the Queen, 'you know not what you do. Lethim go--and go ignorant, if he will not be warned.'
Joshua immediately turned back. 'At all events, we will see this thingout,' he said. 'Now, madam, you have given me advice, but I paid for afortune.'
'Be warned!' said the gipsy. 'The Stars have been silent for long; letthe mystery still wrap them round.'
'My dear madam, I do not get within touch of a mystery every day, andI prefer for my money knowledge rather than ignorance. I can get thelatter commodity for nothing when I want any of it.'
Gerald echoed the sentiment. 'As for me I have a large and unsaleablestock on hand.'
The gipsy Queen eyed the two men sternly, and then said: 'As you wish.You have chosen for yourself, and have met warning with scorn, andappeal with levity. On your own heads be the doom!'
'Amen!' said Gerald.
With an imperious gesture the Queen took Joshua's hand again, andbegan to tell his fortune.
'I see here the flowing of blood; it will flow before long; it isrunning in my sight. It flows through the broken circle of a severedring.'
'Go on!' said Joshua, smiling. Gerald was silent.
'Must I speak plainer?'
'Certainly; we commonplace mortals want something definite. The Starsare a long way off, and their words get somewhat dulled in themessage.'
The gipsy shuddered, and then spoke impressively. 'This is the hand ofa murderer--the murderer of his wife!' She dropped the hand and turnedaway.
Joshua laughed. 'Do you know,' said he, 'I think if I were you Ishould prophesy some jurisprudence into my system. For instance, yousay "this hand is the hand of a murderer." Well, whatever it may be inthe future--or potentially--it is at present not one. You ought togive your prophecy in such terms as "the hand which will be amurderer's", or, rather, "the hand of one who will be the murderer ofhis wife". The Stars are really not good on technical questions.'
The gipsy made no reply of any kind, but, with drooping head anddespondent mien, walked slowly to
her tent, and, lifting the curtain,disappeared.
Without speaking the two men turned homewards, and walked across themoor. Presently, after some little hesitation, Gerald spoke.
'Of course, old man, this is all a joke; a ghastly one, but still ajoke. But would it not be well to keep it to ourselves?'
'How do you mean?'
'Well, not tell your wife. It might alarm her.'
'Alarm her! My dear Gerald, what are you thinking of? Why, she wouldnot be alarmed or afraid of me if all the gipsies that ever didn'tcome from Bohemia agreed that I was to murder her, or even to have ahard thought of her, whilst so long as she was saying "JackRobinson."'
Gerald remonstrated. 'Old fellow, women are superstitious--far morethan we men are; and, also they are blessed--or cursed--with a nervoussystem to which we are strangers. I see too much of it in my work notto realise it. Take my advice and do not let her know, or you willfrighten her.'
Joshua's lips unconsciously hardened as he answered: 'My dear fellow,I would not have a secret from my wife. Why, it would be thebeginning of a new order of things between us. We have no secrets fromeach other. If we ever have, then you may begin to look out forsomething odd between us.'
'Still,' said Gerald, 'at the risk of unwelcome interference, I sayagain be warned in time.'
'The gipsy's very words,' said Joshua. 'You and she seem quite of oneaccord. Tell me, old man, is this a put-up thing? You told me of thegipsy camp--did you arrange it all with Her Majesty?' This was saidwith an air of bantering earnestness. Gerald assured him that he onlyheard of the camp that morning; but he made fun of every answer of hisfriend, and, in the process of this raillery, the time passed, andthey entered the cottage.
Mary was sitting at the piano but not playing. The dim twilight hadwaked some very tender feelings in her breast, and her eyes were fullof gentle tears. When the men came in she stole over to her husband'sside and kissed him. Joshua struck a tragic attitude.
'Mary,' he said in a deep voice, 'before you approach me, listen tothe words of Fate. The Stars have spoken and the doom is sealed.'
'What is it, dear? Tell me the fortune, but do not frighten me.'
'Not at all, my dear; but there is a truth which it is well that youshould know. Nay, it is necessary so that all your arrangements can bemade beforehand, and everything be decently done and in order.'
'Go on, dear; I am listening.'
'Mary Considine, your effigy may yet be seen at Madame Tussaud's. Thejuris-imprudent Stars have announced their fell tidings that this handis red with blood--your blood. Mary! Mary! my God!' He sprangforward, but too late to catch her as she fell fainting on the floor.
'I told you,' said Gerald. 'You don't know them as well as I do.'
After a little while Mary recovered from her swoon, but only to fallinto strong hysterics, in which she laughed and wept and raved andcried, 'Keep him from me--from me, Joshua, my husband,' and many otherwords of entreaty and of fear.
Joshua Considine was in a state of mind bordering on agony, and whenat last Mary became calm he knelt by her and kissed her feet and handsand hair and called her all the sweet names and said all the tenderthings his lips could frame. All that night he sat by her bedside andheld her hand. Far through the night and up to the early morning shekept waking from sleep and crying out as if in fear, till she wascomforted by the consciousness that her husband was watching besideher.
Breakfast was late the next morning, but during it Joshua received atelegram which required him to drive over to Withering, nearly twentymiles. He was loth to go; but Mary would not hear of his remaining,and so before noon he drove off in his dog-cart alone.
When he was gone Mary retired to her room. She did not appear atlunch, but when afternoon tea was served on the lawn under the greatweeping willow, she came to join her guest. She was looking quiterecovered from her illness of the evening before. After some casualremarks, she said to Gerald: 'Of course it was very silly about lastnight, but I could not help feeling frightened. Indeed I would feel sostill if I let myself think of it. But, after all these people mayonly imagine things, and I have got a test that can hardly fail toshow that the prediction is false--if indeed it be false,' she addedsadly.
'What is your plan?' asked Gerald.
'I shall go myself to the gipsy camp, and have my fortune told by theQueen.'
'Capital. May I go with you?'
'Oh, no! That would spoil it. She might know you and guess at me, andsuit her utterance accordingly. I shall go alone this afternoon.'
When the afternoon was gone Mary Considine took her way to the gipsyencampment. Gerald went with her as far as the near edge of thecommon, and returned alone.
Half-an-hour had hardly elapsed when Mary entered the drawing-room,where he lay on a sofa reading. She was ghastly pale and was in astate of extreme excitement. Hardly had she passed over the thresholdwhen she collapsed and sank moaning on the carpet. Gerald rushed toaid her, but by a great effort she controlled herself and motioned himto be silent. He waited, and his ready attention to her wish seemed tobe her best help, for, in a few minutes, she had somewhat recovered,and was able to tell him what had passed.
'When I got to the camp,' she said, 'there did not seem to be a soulabout, I went into the centre and stood there. Suddenly a tall womanstood beside me. "Something told me I was wanted!" she said. I heldout my hand and laid a piece of silver on it. She took from her neck asmall golden trinket and laid it there also; and then, seizing thetwo, threw them into the stream that ran by. Then she took my hand inhers and spoke: "Naught but blood in this guilty place," and turnedaway. I caught hold of her and asked her to tell me more. After somehesitation, she said: "Alas! alas! I see you lying at your husband'sfeet, and his hands are red with blood."'
Gerald did not feel at all at ease, and tried to laugh it off.'Surely,' he said, 'this woman has a craze about murder.'
'Do not laugh,' said Mary, 'I cannot bear it,' and then, as if with asudden impulse, she left the room.
Not long after Joshua returned, bright and cheery, and as hungry as ahunter after his long drive. His presence cheered his wife, who seemedmuch brighter, but she did not mention the episode of the visit to thegipsy camp, so Gerald did not mention it either. As if by tacitconsent the subject was not alluded to during the evening. But therewas a strange, settled look on Mary's face, which Gerald could not butobserve.
In the morning Joshua came down to breakfast later than usual. Maryhad been up and about the house from an early hour; but as the timedrew on she seemed to get a little nervous and now and again threwaround an anxious look.
Gerald could not help noticing that none of those at breakfast couldget on satisfactorily with their food. It was not altogether that thechops were tough, but that the knives were all so blunt. Being aguest, he, of course, made no sign; but presently saw Joshua draw histhumb across the edge of his knife in an unconscious sort of way. Atthe action Mary turned pale and almost fainted.
After breakfast they all went out on the lawn. Mary was making up abouquet, and said to her husband, 'Get me a few of the tea-roses,dear.'
Joshua pulled down a cluster from the front of the house. The stembent, but was too tough to break. He put his hand in his pocket to gethis knife; but in vain. 'Lend me your knife, Gerald,' he said. ButGerald had not got one, so he went into the breakfast room and tookone from the table. He came out feeling its edge and grumbling. 'Whaton earth has happened to all the knives--the edges seem all groundoff?' Mary turned away hurriedly and entered the house.
Joshua tried to sever the stalk with the blunt knife as country cookssever the necks of fowl--as schoolboys cut twine. With a little efforthe finished the task. The cluster of roses grew thick, so hedetermined to gather a great bunch.
He could not find a single sharp knife in the sideboard where thecutlery was kept, so he called Mary, and when she came, told her thestate of things. She looked so agitated and so miserable that he couldnot help knowing the truth, and, as if astounded and hurt, asked h
er:
'Do you mean to say that _you_ have done it?'
She broke in, 'Oh, Joshua, I was so afraid.'
He paused, and a set, white look came over his face. 'Mary!' said he,'is this all the trust you have in me? I would not have believed it.'
'Oh, Joshua! Joshua!' she cried entreatingly, 'forgive me,' and weptbitterly.
Joshua thought a moment and then said: 'I see how it is. We shallbetter end this or we shall all go mad.'
He ran into the drawing-room.
'Where are you going?' almost screamed Mary.
Gerald saw what he meant--that he would not be tied to bluntinstruments by the force of a superstition, and was not surprised whenhe saw him come out through the French window, bearing in his hand alarge Ghourka knife, which usually lay on the centre table, and whichhis brother had sent him from Northern India. It was one of thosegreat hunting-knives which worked such havoc, at close quarters withthe enemies of the loyal Ghourkas during the mutiny, of great weightbut so evenly balanced in the hand as to seem light, and with an edgelike a razor. With one of these knives a Ghourka can cut a sheep intwo.
When Mary saw him come out of the room with the weapon in his hand shescreamed in an agony of fright, and the hysterics of last night werepromptly renewed.
Joshua ran toward her, and, seeing her falling, threw down the knifeand tried to catch her.
However, he was just a second too late, and the two men cried out inhorror simultaneously as they saw her fall upon the naked blade.
When Gerald rushed over he found that in falling her left hand hadstruck the blade, which lay partly upwards on the grass. Some of thesmall veins were cut through, and the blood gushed freely from thewound. As he was tying it up he pointed out to Joshua that the weddingring was severed by the steel.
They carried her fainting to the house. When, after a while, she cameout, with her arm in a sling, she was peaceful in her mind and happy.She said to her husband:
'The gipsy was wonderfully near the truth; too near for the real thingever to occur now, dear.'
Joshua bent over and kissed the wounded hand.
