ect
of his jealousy was the devoted Alonzo! Mr. Beamish laughed when he heard
of it. The lady's excitement and giddy mien, however, accused Poltermore
of a stage of success requiring to be combated immediately. There was
mention of Duchess Susan's mighty wish to pay a visit to the popular
fortune-teller of the hut on the heath, and Mr. Beamish put his veto on
the expedition. She had obeyed him by abstaining from play of late, so he
fully expected, that his interdict would be obeyed; and besides the
fortune-teller was a rogue of a sham astrologer known to have foretold to
certain tender ladies things they were only too desirous to imagine
predestined by an extraordinary indication of the course of planets
through the zodiac, thus causing them to sin by the example of celestial
conjunctions--a piece of wanton impiety. The beau took high ground in his
objections to the adventure. Nevertheless, Duchess Susan did go. She
drove to the heath at an early hour of the morning, attended by Chloe,
Colonel Poltermore, and Caseldy. They subsequently breakfasted at an inn
where gipsy repasts were occasionally served to the fashion, and they
were back at the wells as soon as the world was abroad. Their surprise
then was prodigious when Mr. Beamish, accosting them full in assembly,
inquired whether they were satisfied with the report of their fortunes,
and yet more when he positively proved himself acquainted with the
fortunes which had been recounted to each of them in privacy.

'You, Colonel Poltermore, are to be in luck's way up to the tenth
milestone,--where your chariot will overset and you will be lamed for
life.'

'Not quite so bad,' said the Colonel cheerfully, he having been informed
of much better.

'And you, Count Caseldy, are to have it all your own way with good luck,
after committing a deed of slaughter, with the solitary penalty of
undergoing a visit every night from the corpse.'

'Ghost,' Caseldy smilingly corrected him.

'And Chloe would not have her fortune told, because she knew it!' Mr.
Beamish cast a paternal glance at her. 'And you, madam,' he bent his
brows on the duchess, 'received the communication that "All for Love"
will sink you as it raised you, put you down as it took you up, furnish
the feast to the raven gentleman which belongs of right to the golden
eagle?'

'Nothing of the sort! And I don't believe in any of their stories,' cried
the duchess, with a burning face.

'You deny it, madam?'

'I do