cess 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. There was never a word of a raven or an eagle, that I'll swear,
now.'

'You deny that there was ever a word of "All for Love"? Speak, madam.'

'Their conjuror's ri