"For the reception-room of a sorceress," remarked Sir Norman, with an
air of disappointed criticism, "there is nothing very wonderful about
all this. How is it she spaes fortunes any way? As Lilly does by maps
and charts; or as these old Eastern mufti do it by magic mirrors and all
each fooleries?"
"Neither," said Ormiston, "her style in more like that of the Indian
almechs, who show you your destiny in a well. She has a sort of magic
lake in her room, and--but you will see it all for yourself presently."
"I have always heard," said Sir Norman, in the same meditative way,
"that truth lies at the bottom of a well, and I am glad some one has
turned up at last who is able to fish it out. Ah! Here comes our ancient
Mercury to show us to the presence of your goddess."
The door opened, and the "old bag of bones," as Ormiston irreverently
styled his lady-love's ancient domestic, made a sign for them to follow
him. Leading the way down along a corridor, he flung open a pair of
shining folding-doors at the end, and ushered them at once into the
majestic presence of the sorceress and her magic room. Both gentlemen
doffed their plumed hats. Ormiston stepped forward at once; but Sir
Norman discreetly paused in the doorway to contemplate the scene of
action. As he slowly did so, a look of deep displeasure settled on his
features, on finding it not half so awful as he had supposed.
In some ways it was very like the room they had left, being low, large,
and square, and having floors, walls and ceiling paneled with glossy
black oak. But it had no windows--a large bronze lamp, suspended from
the centre of the ceiling, shed a flickering, ghostly light. There were
no paintings--some grim carvings of skulls, skeletons, and
serpents, pleasantly wreathed the room--neither were there seats
nor tables--nothing but a huge ebony caldron at the upper end of the
apartment, over which a grinning skeleton on wires, with a scythe in
one hand of bone, and an hour-glass in the other, kept watch and ward.
Opposite this cheerful-looking guardian, was a tall figure in black,
standing an motionless as if it, too, was carved in ebony. It was a
female figure, very tall and slight, but as beautifully symmetrical as
a Venus Celestis.
Her dress was of black velvet, that swept the polished
floor, spangled all over with stars of gold and rich rubies. A profusion
of shining black hair fell in waves and curls almost to her feet; but
her face, from forehead to chin, was completely hidden by a black velvet
mask. In one hand, exquisitely small and white, she held a gold casket,
blazing (like her dress) with rubies, and with the other she toyed with
a tame viper, that had twined itself round her wrist. This was doubtless
La Masque, and becoming conscious of that fact Sir Norman made her a
low and courtly bow. She returned it by a slight bend of the head, and
turning toward his companion, spoke: