her face, from forehead to chin, was completely hidden by a black velvet
mask. In one hand, exquisitely small and white, she held a gold casket,
blazing (like her dress) with rubies, and with the other she toyed with
a tame viper, that had twined itself round her wrist. This was doubtless
La Masque, and becoming conscious of that fact Sir Norman made her a
low and courtly bow. She returned it by a slight bend of the head, and
turning toward his companion, spoke:

"You here, again, Mr. Ormiston! To what am I indebted for the honor of
two visits in two days?"

Her voice, Sir Norman thought, was the sweetest he had ever heard,
musical as a chime of silver bells, soft as the tones of an aeolian harp
through which the west wind plays.

"Madam, I am aware my visits are undesired," said Ormiston, with a
flushing cheek and, slightly tremulous voice; "but I have merely come
with my friend, Sir Norman Kingsley, who wishes to know what the future
has in store for him."

Thus invoked, Sir Norman Kingsley stepped forward with another low bow
to the masked lady.

"Yes, madam, I have long heard that those fair fingers can withdraw the
curtain of the future, and I have come to see what Dame Destiny is going
to do for me."

"Sir Norman Kingsley is welcome," said the sweet voice, "and shall see
what he desires. There is but one condition, that he will keep perfectly
silent; for if he speaks, the scene he beholds will vanish. Come
forward!"

Sir Norman compressed his lips as closely as if they were forever
hermetically sealed, and came forward accordingly. Leaning over the edge
of the ebony caldron, he found that it contained nothing more dreadful
than water, for he labored under a vague and unpleasant idea that, like
the witches' caldron in Macbeth, it might be filled with serpents' blood
and childrens' brains. La Masque opened her golden casket, and took from
it a portion of red powder, with which it was filled. Casting it into
the caldron, she murmured an invocation in Sanscrit, or Coptic, or some
other unknown tongue, and slowly there arose a dense cloud of dark-red
smoke, that nearly filled the room. Had Sir Norman ever read the story
of Aladdin, he would probably have thought of it then; but the young
courtier did not greatly affect literature of any kind, and thought of
nothing now but of seeing something when the smoke cleared away. It was
rather long in doing so, and when it did, he saw nothing at first but
his own han