grounds? There was one hour of mad, brief bliss, parting and
forgetfulness. I forgot. Life was a long, idle summer holiday to me.
But she never forgot--never forgave! You remember the woman, Olivia,
who burst into the church on the day of our boy's christening--the
woman who died in the sexton's house? That woman was Zenith--old and
withered, and maddened by her wrongs--that woman who died cursing me
and mine. A girl, dark and fierce, and terrible as herself, stood by
her to the last, lingered at her grave to vow deathless revenge--her
daughter and mine!"

The faint voice ceased an instant. The fluttering spirit rallied, and
resumed:

"I have reason to know that daughter was married. I have reason to
know she had a child--whether boy or girl I can not tell. To that
child the inheritance of hatred and revenge will fall; that child, some
inward prescience tells me, will wreak deep and awful vengeance for the
past. Beware of the grandchild of Zenith, the gypsy--beware, Olivia,
for yourself and your son!"

"Is this all?" Olivia said, in a constrained, hard voice.

"All I have to say to you--the rest is for Everard. My son, on the
night of your birth an Eastern astrologer came to this house and cast
your horoscope. He gave that horoscope to me at day-dawn and departed,
and from that hour to this I have neither seen nor heard of him.
Before reading your future in the stars he looked into my palm and told
me the past--told me the story of Zenith and her wrongs--told me what
no one under heaven but myself knew. My boy, the revelation of that
night has blighted my life--broken my heart! The unutterable horror of