"You here, again, Mr. Ormiston! To what am I indebted for the honor of

two visits in two days?"

Her voice, Sir Norman thought, was the sweetest he had ever heard,

musical as a chime of silver bells, soft as the tones of an aeolian harp

through which the west wind plays.

"Madam, I am aware my visits are undesired," said Ormiston, with a

flushing cheek and, slightly tremulous voice; "but I have merely come

with my friend, Sir Norman Kingsley, who wishes to know what the future

has in store for him."

Thus invoked, Sir Norman Kingsley stepped forward with another low bow

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to the masked lady.

"Yes, madam, I have long heard that those fair fingers can withdraw the

curtain of the future, and I have come to see what Dame Destiny is going

to do for me."

"Sir Norman Kingsley is welcome," said the sweet voice, "and shall see

what he desires. There is but one condition, that he will keep perfectly

silent; for if he speaks, the scene he beholds will vanish. Come

forward!"

Sir Norman compressed his lips as closely am if they were forever

hermetically sealed, and came forward accordingly. Leaning over the edge

of the ebony caldron, he found that it contained nothing more dreadful

than water, for he labored under a vague and unpleasant idea that, like

the witches' caldron in Macbeth, it might be filled with serpents' blood

and children's' brains. La Masque opened her golden casket, and took

from it a portion of red powder, with which it was filled. Casting it

into the caldron, she murmured an invocation in Sanscrit, or Coptic,

or some other unknown tongue, and slowly there arose a dense cloud of

dark-red smoke, that nearly filled the room. Had Sir Norman ever read

the story of Aladdin, he would probably have thought of it then; but

the young courtier did not greatly affect literature of any kind, and

thought of nothing now but of seeing something when the smoke cleared

away. It was rather long in doing so, and when it did, he saw nothing

at first but his own handsome, half-serious, half-incredulous face; but

gradually a picture, distinct and clear, formed itself at the bottom,

and Sir Norman gazed with bewildered eyes. He saw a large room filled

with a sparkling crowd, many of them ladies, splendidly arrayed and

flashing in jewels, and foremost among them stood one whose beauty

surpassed anything he had ever before dreamed of. She wore the robes of

a queen, purple and ermine--diamonds blazed on the beautiful neck, arms,

and fingers, and a tiara of the same brilliants crowned her regal head.

In one hand she held a sceptre; what seemed to be a throne was behind

her, but something that surprised Sir Norton most of all was, to find

himself standing beside her, the cynosure of all eyes. While he yet

gazed in mingled astonishment and incredulity, the scene faded away,

and another took its place. This time a dungeon-cell, damp and dismal;

walls, and floor, and ceiling covered with green and hideous slime. A

small lamp stood on the floor, and by its sickly, watery gleam, he saw

himself again standing, pale and dejected, near the wall. But he was not

alone; the same glittering vision in purple and diamonds stood before

him, and suddenly he drew his sword and plunged it up to the hilt in her

heart! The beautiful vision fell like a stone at his feet, and the sword

was drawn out reeking with her life-blood. This was a little too

much for the real Sir Norman, and with an expression of indignant

consternation, he sprang upright. Instantly it all faded away and the

reflection of his own excited face looked up at him from the caldron.




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