The gypsies usually came in the morning, since the light was then better for artistic purposes, but they always departed at one o’clock, so that Lambert had the afternoon to himself.  Chaldea would fain have lingered in order to charm the man she loved into subjection; but he never gave her the least encouragement, so she was obliged to stay away.  All the same, she often haunted the woods near the cottage, and when Lambert came out for a stroll, which he usually did when it became too dark to paint, he was bound to run across her.  Since he had not the slightest desire to make love to her, and did not fathom the depth of her passion, he never suspected that she purposely contrived the meetings which he looked upon as accidental.

Since Chaldea hung round the house, like a moth round a candle, she saw every one who came and went from the woodland cottage.  On the afternoon of the third day since Pine’s arrival at the camp in the character of Ishmael Hearne, the gypsy saw Lady Agnes coming through the wood.  Chaldea knew her at once, having often seen her when she had come to visit Mother Cockleshell a few months previously.  With characteristic cunning, the girl dived into the undergrowth, and there remained concealed for the purpose of spying on the Gentile lady whom she regarded as a rival.  Immediately, Chaldea guessed that Lady Agnes was on her way to the cottage, and, as Lambert was alone as usual for the afternoon, the two would probably have a private conversation.  The girl swiftly determined to listen, so that she might learn exactly how matters stood between them.  It might be that she would discover something which Pine—­Chaldea now thought of him as Pine—­might like to know.  So having arranged this in her own unscrupulous mind, the girl behind a juniper bush jealously watched the unsuspecting lady.  What she saw did not please her overmuch, as Lady Agnes was rather too beautiful for her unknown rival’s peace of mind.

Sir Hubert’s wife was not really the exquisitely lovely creature Chaldea took her to be, but her fair skin and brown hair were such a contrast to the gypsy’s swarthy face and raven locks, that she really looked like an angel of light compared with the dark child of Nature.  Agnes was tall and slender, and moved with a great air of dignity and calm self-possession, and this to the uncontrolled Chaldea was also a matter of offence.  She inwardly tried to belittle her rival by thinking what a milk-and-water useless person she was, but the steady and resolute look in the lady’s brown eyes gave the lie to this mental assertion.  Lady Agnes had an air of breeding and command, which, with all her beauty, Chaldea lacked, and as she passed along like a cold, stately goddess, the gypsy rolled on the grass in an ecstasy of rage.  She could never be what her rival was, and what her rival was, as she suspected, formed Lambert’s ideal of womanhood.  When she again peered through the bush, Lady Agnes had disappeared.  But there was no need