oped all in the silver paper
once more. Then she lifted the folded document, and looked darkly at
the superscription:

"Horoscope of the Heir of Kingsland."

"Which the heir of Kingsland shall never see," she said, grimly
unfolding it. "Now for this mighty secret."

She just glanced at the mystic symbols, the cabalistic signs and
figures, and turned to the other side. There, beautifully written, in
long, clear letters, she saw her son's fate.

The morning wore on--noon came; the house was as still as a tomb.
Rosine, my lady's maid, with a cup of tea, ventured to tap at her
ladyship's door. There was no response.

"She sleeps," thought Rosine, and turned the handle.

But at the threshold she paused in wild alarm. No, my lady did not
sleep. She sat in her chair, upright and ghastly as a galvanized
corpse, a written paper closely clutched in her hand, and a look of
white horror frozen on her face.

CHAPTER VII.

AFTER TEN YEARS.

"I have said it, and I mean it; they ought to know me well enough by
this time, Godsoe. I'd transport every man of them, the poaching
scoundrels, if I could! Tell that villain Dick Darkly that the first
time I catch him at his old tricks he shall follow the brother he makes
such a howling about, and share his fate."

Sir Everard Kingsland was the speaker. He stood with one hand, white
and shapely as a lady's, resting on the glossy neck of his bay horse,
his fair, handsome face, flushed with anger, turned upon his gamekeeper.

Peter Godsoe, the sturdy gamekeeper, standing before his young master,
hat in hand, looked up deprecatingly.

"He takes it very hard, Sir Everard, that you sent his brother to
Worrel Jail. His missis was sick, and two of the children had the
measles, and Will Darkly he'd been out o' work, and they was poor as
poor. So he turns to and snares the rabbits, and--"

"Godsoe, are you trying to excuse this convicted poacher? Is that what
you stopped me here to say?"

"I beg your pardon, Sir Everard; I only wanted to warn you--to put you
on your guard--"

"To warn me--to put me on my guard? What do you mean? Has that
villainous poacher dared to threaten me?"

"Not in my hearing, sir; but others say so. And he's a dark,
vindictive brute; and he swore a solemn oath, they say, when his
brother went to Worrel Jail, to be revenged upon you. And so, Sir
Everard, begging your pardon for the freedom, I thought as how you was
likely to be out la