this terrible prediction was and laugh it out of my husband's mind."

Meantime the carriage rolled down the long avenue, under the majestic
copper-beeches, through the lofty gates, and along the bright sunlit
road leading to the village.

In stole and surplice, within the village church, the Reverend Cyrus
Green, Rector of Stonehaven, stood by the baptismal font, waiting to
baptize the heir of all the Kingslands.

Stately, Sir Jasper Kingsland strode up the aisle, with Lady Helen upon
his arm. No trace of the trouble within showed in his pale face as he
heard his son baptized Everard Jasper Carew Kingsland.

The ceremony was over. Nurse took the infant baronet again; Lady Helen
adjusted her mantle, and the Reverend Cyrus Green was blandly offering
his congratulations to the greatest man in the parish, when a sudden
commotion at the door startled all. Some one striving to enter, and
some other one refusing admission.

"Let me in, I tell you!" cried a shrill, piercing voice--the voice of
an angry woman. "Stand aside, woman! I will see Sir Jasper Kingsland."

With the last ringing words the intruder burst past the pew-opener, and
rushed wildly into the church. A weird and unearthly figure--like one
of Macbeth's witches--with streaming black hair floating over a long,
red cloak, and two black eyes of flame. All recoiled as the spectral
figure rushed up like a mad thing and confronted Sir Jasper Kingsland.

"At last!" she shrilly cried, in a voice that pierced even to the