The Veiled Gypsy


Picture the scene...

   The Veiled Gypsy, seated in her tent, amongst the exotic scents of the 
Eastern oils and incenses, used for what mysterious purpose you cannot 
guess...the dim lighting, the dark velvets and brocade of her Eastern 
gowns glinting in the fitful glow of a candle and an oil lamp...her dark, 
pretty features concealed by a heavy veil, wrapped like a turban about 
her head...she beckons you closer...as you lean forward, a dark 
slave-brunette pushes aside the curtains of the tent and throws herself 
at the feet of the Veiled Gypsy salaaming in a fury of oriental passionate 
submission....
'Mistress, Mistress...' pants the slave, 'Forgive the least of your servants
 for disturbing you in your seclusion...may I speak?'
The Veiled Gypsy gives one nod of her head in an aloof, imperial
 manner. To you she has appeared as a young and pretty girl beneath her veil,
 but now she assumes, before your eyes, the character of majesty.
'Speak, slave.'
'Mistress, Mistress...' The slave breaks off her words as she catches 
sight of you. It seems to freeze her into a fearful uncertainty.
'Mistress..' the slave speaks,'Divine One, what I must say is for you. It is 
not to be spoken of before a stranger, according to the laws of our 
people.'
The Veiled Gypsy extends a hand towards her slave, and the bangles 
on her slim arms jangle musically. 
'Arise, o slave, and speak into my ear. I command it!'
The slave rises from the feet of her Mistress and approaches her. 
Dropping deferentially to her knees, she speaks the words of import that 
 you cannot be permitted to hear.
The Veiled Gypsy rises furiously. In her eyes are the fires of anger, and 
every line of her body speaks of suppressed passion and smouldering 
fire.
'It is not to be borne! No insult to my people shall so go unavenged! Strike the tents!
 Saddle the horses! Leave the carts here to the old and 
infirm amongst us. We ride tonight!'
She turns towards you and bows in an Oriental courtesy.
'Forgive me, honoured guest. A thousand pardons that I cannot foretell
the future for you tonight. The spirits of my people must be appeased before
I can once more approach the Heavenly Orbs for guidance. A thousand pardons!'
   As you turn to leave, full of wonder at this mystery of the Veiled Gypsy, she catches your arm.
'My lady, I vow to you--return upon this day in one month's time, and I shall then tell you
 all that you wish to know of the secrets that the future holds.
 The honour of The Veiled Gypsy rests upon it. I shall not fail you!'


The Front Cover