rupted; a young man, a native, breaks into the group. He
has a long knife in his hand. He springs upon the ill-shaped man and
wounds him in the head."

Involuntarily Mr. Boxer's hand went up to his honourable scar, and the
heads of the others swung round to gaze at it. Mrs. Boxer's face was
terrible in its expression, but Mrs. Gimpson's bore the look of sad and
patient triumph of one who knew men and could not be surprised at
anything they do.

"The scene vanishes," resumed the monotonous voice, "and another one
forms. The same man stands on the deck of a small ship. The name on
the stern is the Peer--no, Paris--no, no, no, Pearl. It fades from the
shore where the dusky maiden stands with hands stretched out
imploringly. The ill-shaped man smiles and takes the portrait of the
young and beautiful girl from his pocket."

"Look 'ere," said the infuriated Mr. Boxer, "I think we've 'ad about
enough of this rubbish. I have--more than enough."

"I don't wonder at it," said his wife, trembling furiously. "You can go
if you like. I'm going to stay and hear all that there is to hear."

"You sit quiet," urged the intensely interested Mr. Thompson. "He ain't
said it's you. There's more than one misshaped man in the world, I
s'pose?"

"I see an ocean liner," said the seer, who had appeared to be in a trance
state during this colloquy. "She is sailing for England from Australia.
I see the name distinctly: the _Marston Towers_. The same man is on
board of her. The ship arrives at London. The scene closes; another one
forms. The ill-shaped man is sitting with a woman with a beautiful face
--not the same as the photograph."

"What they can see in him I can't think," muttered Mr. Thompson, in an
envious whisper. "He's a perfick terror, and to look at him----"

"They sit hand in hand," continued the astrologer, raising his voice.
"She smiles up at him and gently strokes his head; he----"

A loud smack rang through the room and startled the entire company; Mrs.
Boxer, unable to contain herself any longer, had, so far from profiting
by the example, gone to the other extreme and slapped her husband's head
with hearty good-will. Mr. Boxer sprang raging to his feet, and in the
confusion which ensued the fortune-teller, to the great regret of Mr.
Thompson, upset the contents of the magic bowl.

"I can see no more," he said, sinking hastily into his chair behind the
table as Mr. Boxer advanced upon him.

Mrs. Gimps