"The ship leaves the docks," continued Mr. Silver, still peering into the
bowl. "As she passes through the entrance her stern comes into view with
the name painted on it. The--the--the----"

"Look agin, old chap," growled Mr. Boxer, in an undertone.

"The North Star," said the astrologer. "The ill-shaped man is still
standing on the fore-part of the ship; I do not know his name or who he
is. He takes the portrait of a beautiful young woman from his pocket and
gazes at it earnestly."

Mrs. Boxer, who had no illusions on the subject of her personal
appearance, sat up as though she had been stung; Mr. Thompson, who was
about to nudge Mr. Boxer in the ribs again, thought better of it and
assumed an air of uncompromising virtue.

"The picture disappears," said Mr. Silver. "Ah! I see; I see. A ship
in a gale at sea. It is the North Star; it is sinking. The ill-shaped
man sheds tears and loses his head. I cannot discover the name of this
man."

Mr. Boxer, who had been several times on the point of interrupting,
cleared his throat and endeavoured to look unconcerned.

"The ship sinks," continued the astrologer, in thrilling tones. "Ah!
what is this? a piece of wreck-age with a monkey clinging to it? No,
no-o. The ill-shaped man again. Dear me!"

[Illustration: "Ah! what is this? a piece of wreckage with a monkey
clinging to it?"]