"I ought to be; I've been here often enough," said Ormiston.
"This is the common waiting-room for all who wish to consult La
Masque. That old bag of bones who let us in has gone to announce
us."

Sir Norman took a seat, and glanced curiously round the room. It
was a common-place apartment enough, with a floor of polished
black oak, slippery as ice, and shining like glass; a few old
Flemish paintings on the walls; a large, round table in the
centre of the floor, on which lay a pair of the old musical
instruments called "virginals." Two large, curtainless windows,
with minute diamond-shaped panes, set in leaden casements,
admitted the golden and crimson light.

"For the reception-room of a sorceress," remarked Sir Norman,
with an air of disappointed criticism, "there is nothing very
wonderful about all this. How is it she spaes fortunes any way?
As Lilly does by maps and charts; or as these old Eastern mufti
do it by magic mirrors and all each fooleries?"

"Neither," said Ormiston, "her style in more like that of the
Indian almechs, who show you your destiny in a well. She has a
sort of magic lake in her room, and - but you will see it all for
yourself presently."

"I have always heard," said Sir Norman, in the same meditative
way, "that truth lies at the bottom of a well, and I am glad some
one has turned up at last who is able to fish it out. Ah! Here
comes our ancient Mercury to show us to the presence of your