excited
when some hidden page of the past, as a former engagement, or a
never-mentioned marriage, was disclosed.

One young man was told that he would live happily, but always be
poor--a destiny that he received with a droll air of resignation and
philosophy; while another was warned to beware of a blonde enemy,
causing him to recoil with a look of mock terror from the fair-haired
Philippe Hubert who sat beside him.

An elegant young Englishman was alternately inspirited and depressed,
by hearing that an uncle in India was about to leave him a legacy, and
that a tailor's bill of many years' standing was now upon its way to
him, whilst for all the young ladies a brilliant future was predicted.

My fortune was, however, quite mysterious. I was told to beware of a
male enemy, and two rivals, a blonde and a brunette, and was in
imminent danger of poison. I was soon to be engaged to a poor man, but
was to marry a millionnaire, who would leave me a widow at the end of
five years' time. Whether I was then to

"--marry my own love,"

the oracle did not disclose.

Then ensued the long drive home. The air was chill but exhilarating,
and we sung and told ghost stories, and were astonished, when at last
we dashed through a white gate, to find ourselves at home once more.
It was ten o'clock the next morning before we were all assembled at the
breakfast-table, and we had scarcely risen from our last cups of
coffee, when a couple of friends arrived upon the slow Sunday train.
How we were now to amuse ourselves was the question for the proximity
of a church compelled very quiet demeanor. Finally we had a brilliant
idea: the stone barn which had been filled only a few days previous
with fresh, sweet hay, would be just the place to spend the morning.
Accordingly we walked up there, pausing, however, on the way for a row
on the pond in our pretty blue boat, and then ensued two charming
hours. We mounted the hay-loft, and nestled down in the soft mounds
(to the detriment of our black dresses, by the way, for upon emerging
we were covered with burrs and straws), and being far from reproving
ears we sung both sacred and secular music, and laughed at a droll
impersonation, of Fechter's Claude--

"Ah! false one,
It is ze Prince zow lovest, not ze man," etc.,

and an equally comic burlesque upon Forrest, and were very sorry to
learn that the carriages were waiting to take us to Lake Wampas.

[Illustration: The Stone Barn