seamed and wrinkled, looked a pair of eyes piercing and black.

Sir Jasper took a stop backward, and regarded this singular apparition
in wonder. The old man folded his arms across his bosom--and made him
a profound Oriental salaam.

"The Lord of Kingsland gazes in amaze at the uninvited stranger. And
yet I think destiny has sent me hither."

"Who are you?" the baronet demanded. "What jugglery is this? Are you
dressed for an Eastern dervish in a melodrama, and have you come here
to play a practical joke? I am afraid I can not appreciate the humor
of the masquerade. Who are you?" sternly.

"Men call me Achmet the Astrologer."

"An astrologer? Humph! your black art, it seems, could not protect you
from a January storm," retorted Sir Jasper, with a cynical sneer. "But
come in--come in. Astrologer or demon, or whatever you are, you look
too old a man to be abroad such a night, when we would not turn an
enemy's dog from the house. The doors of Kingsland are never closed to
the tired wayfarer, and of all nights in the year they should not he
closed to-night."

"When an heir is born to an ancient name and a princely inheritance,
you speak rightly, my Lord of Kingsland."

"How say you? What do you know of the events of this night, Sir
Astrologer?"