"But you are not to be feared. Do I not know
God's signs when I see them fresh from his very finger? I have seen them
aforetime; and no man or woman on earth, no, even our minister, will
convince me they are meant for nothing. This bairn will be a rich man,
but it will not be by the devil's books; for he who made the mark does
not tempt to evil by promises printed on the bodies of them he loves."
"I want not this drivelling," said her master, on whom her reading of
the sign had an effect the very opposite of that intended. "You're a
fool, but you have eyes. Say, once for all, you saw it, and will swear.
Take her words, Rymer."
"As clear as I see the mark on your cheek, sir," she said, addressing
me. "It was not from one who loved you so well as your mother did when
she bore you, you got that mark."
"I got it from a villain called Ruggieri," I replied, caring nothing
for the start I produced in Graeme, but keeping my eye on the face of
Rogers.
I will say nothing of what I observed on that long, sombre, saturnine
index. It was an experiment on my part, and I might have found
something, merely because I expected it; nor do I think Graeme knew my
object, though he felt the words as a surprise.
"And who is Ruggieri?" said the doctor, by way of putting a simple
question.
"_Perhaps_ an Italian," said I.
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