your future has brought my gray hairs to the grave. Oh, my son! what
will become of you when I am gone?"

"What was it, papa?" the lad asked. "What has the future in store for
me?"

A convulsive spasm distorted the livid face; the eye-balls rolled, the
death-rattle sounded. With a smothered cry of terror Lady Kingsland
lifted the agonized head in her arms.

"Quick, Jasper--the horoscope! Where?"

"My safe--study--secret spring--at back! Oh, God, have mercy--"

The clock struck sharply--twelve. A vivid blaze of lambent lightning
lighted the room; the awful death-rattle sounded once more.

"Beware of Zenith's grandchild!"

He spoke the words aloud, clear and distinct, and never spoke again.

* * * * * *

Many miles away from Kingsland Court, that same sultry, oppressive
midsummer night a little third-rate theater on the Surrey side of
London was crowded to overflowing. There was a grand spectacular
drama, full of transformation scenes, fairies, demons, spirits of air,
fire, and water; a brazen orchestra blowing forth, and steam, and
orange-peel, and suffocation generally.