" "Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone. She located her foster family. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves.
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