He flung the baronet's hand away, and once more his eyes glowed like
the orbs of a demon. But Sir Jasper Kingsland, pale as a dead man, saw
it not.

"Are you man or devil?" he said, in an awe-struck tone. "No living
mortal knows what you have told me this night."

Achmet the Astrologer smiled--a dire, dark smile.

"Man, in league with the dark potentate you have named, if you like.
Whatever I am, I have truthfully told you the past, as I will
truthfully tell your son's future."

"By palmistry?"

"No, by the stars. And behold!" drawing aside the curtain, "yonder
they shine!"

"Take me to an upper room," the astrologer exclaimed, in an inspired
tone, "and leave me. Destiny is propitious. The fate that ruled your
son's birth has set forth the shining stars for Achmet to read. Lead
on!"

Like a man in a dreamy swoon, Sir Jasper Kingsland obeyed. He led the
astrologer up the grand sweeping staircases--up and up, to the very top
of the house--to the lofty, lonely battlements. Cloudless spread the
wide night sky; countless and brilliant shone the stars; peaceful and
majestic slept, the purple sea; spotless white gleamed the snowy earth.
A weird, witching scene.