int of an attempted
disguise, to be familiar to his eye, there existed, in the matter of the
letter, short as it was, certain internal evidences, which, although not
actually conclusive, raised, in conjunction with all the other
circumstances, a powerful presumption in aid of his suspicions. He
resolved, however, to sift the matter further, and to bide his time.
Meanwhile his manner must indicate no trace of his dark surmises and
bitter thoughts. Deception, in its two great branches, simulation and
dissimulation, was easy to him. His habitual reserve and gloom would
divest any accidental and momentary disclosure of his inward trouble of
everything suspicious or unaccountable, which would have characterized
such displays and eccentricities in another man.

His rapid and reckless ramble, a kind of physical vent for the paroxysm
which had so agitated him throughout the greater part of the day, had
soiled and disordered his dress, and thus had helped to give to his whole
appearance a certain air of haggard wildness, which, in the privacy of
his chamber, he hastened carefully and entirely to remove.

At supper, Marston was apparently in unusually good spirits. Sir Wynston
and he chatted gaily and fluently upon many subjects, grave and gay.
Among them the inexhaustible topic of popular superstition happened to
turn up, and especially the subject of strange prophecies of the fates
and fortunes of individuals, singularly fulfilled in the events of their
afterlife.

"By-the-by, Dick, this is rather a nervous topic for me to discuss," said
Sir Wynston.

"How so?" asked his host.

"Why, don't you remember?" urged the baronet.

"No, I don't recollect what you allude to," replied Marston, in all
sincerity.

"Why, don't you remember Eton?" pursued Sir Wynston.

"Yes, to be sure," said Marston.

"Well?" continued his visitor.

"Well, I really don't recollect the prophecy," replied Marston.

"What! do you forget the gypsy who predicted that you were to murder me,
Dick--eh?"

"Ah-ha, ha!" laughed Marston, with a start.

"Don't you remember it now?" urged his companion.

"Ah, why yes, I believe I do," said Marston; "but another prophecy was
running in my mind; a gypsy prediction, too. At Ascot, do you
recollect the girl told me I was to be Lord Chancellor of England, and
a duke besides?"

"Well, Dick," rejoined Sir Wynston, merrily, "if both are to be
fulfilled, or neither, I trust you may never sit upon the woolsack