in everything that went on in the
laboratory. Could any good come of a room
that was never dusted? Could anything done
in such an apartment prosper? Could science
which required to be prosecuted under such
conditions be worth twopence? She had been
forbidden to enter that room. Once, many
years ago, impelled by a sort of frenzy of cleanliness,
to attacks of which she was liable, she
had entered the room and carefully dusted
everything she could lay her hands upon, and
had felt a lightness of spirit afterwards of an
unparalleled kind, for she said to herself that now,
for once, all the house was clean and sweet.
Her hilarity, however, was not of long duration.
The astrologer found out what had happened,
and denounced her with imprecations of so unknown
and incomprehensible a sort, as nearly
frightened her to death. He called upon all
the most vicious of the planets to set themselves
against her. He handed her over to the
Great Bear to be hugged, to the Little Bear to
be torn and lacerated. He brought the signs
of the zodiac to bear upon her. Scorpio and Leo
were let loose for her benefit. The Crab was to
nip her with his claws, and Taurus was to impale
her on one of his horns. In short, such a combination
of horrors were to accumulate upon her
devoted head, that life itself would hardly be
worth the having on such terms. What was left
to the wretched woman after this but to depreciate
the science which was so much against her?
And she did so with all her might, and even
tried to make a sceptic of her husband as well.

With regard to that good man, I am afraid
that it must be stated that he was of a weak
disposition. He temporised. In the laboratory,
and under the influence of his master, he was a
profound believer. In the kitchen, and with
his wife's sarcasms ringing in his ears, he
doubted. Smagg was a little, seedy, mouldy
old man, with a crestfallen carriage, and a
shuffling gait. His appearance was wonderfully
like his character, ana both were evasive, in
consequence, no doubt, of this double part
which he was always playing. To do him justice,
I believe that he had not the least idea as
to the state of his own mind in connexion with
his master's pursuits, and that he was for the
time perfectly sincere, whether in his belief or
in his doubt.

In pursuance of that system of having all
duties in common which prevailed throughout
the arrangements of this worthy couple, it
happened that Mrs. Smaggsdale was not unfrequently
called upon, when there was a press of
business, to serve behind the counter, where she
was, indeed, extremely serviceable. Here, too,
her husband would occasionally officiate, and on
him would devolve the duty of communicating
with the head of the establishment when that
remarkable character was too much engaged
with the stars to be able to attend to the shop.
This seldom happened, however, except in the
evening, a season when the philosopher thought
he had a right to devote his time to his favourite
pursuits.

It is with evening time that we have now to
do. The evening of the day on which Mr.
Julius Lethwaite came to the conclusion — as
stated in a previous chapter — that he would go
and have an interview with the astrologer.

"I was just occupied with your affairs," said
that jolly individual, as Lethwaite entered his
sanctum. " You have been a good deal in my
thoughts lately."

"And I suppose you knew I was coming this
evening?" remarked the cynic, with something
of a sneer.

"You sent a premonitory current in this
direction, which reached me about five minutes
since," replied the philosopher, in perfect good
faith. " I said to myself, ' He'll be here presently.'"

"What an impostor you are, Vampi!"

"Ah, sir, you know better than that," replied
Cornelius, not in the least disconcerted. " But,
as I was saying, I've been occupying myself
with your affairs lately, and that made me,
perhaps, particularly accessible to any influence
of an atmospheric kind coming from you."

"And may I ask why I've been so fortunate
as to occupy your attention lately?"

"Well, sir, to tell you the honest truth, your
affairs are not looking so well as I could wish,
and that's why I've been trying hard to pry
into them a bit." The philosopher turned over
a good many bits of paper with all sorts of hieroglyphics,
and queer figures, and mystic words
upon them, and scratched his head with the
blunt end of a pair of compasses in much perplexity.
"From the time when you first confided
to me the particulars from which I was able
to construct your horoscope," continued the
astrologer, " I've been able to put you up to
more than one coming event, now, haven't I ?"

"Well, you've made one or two good guesses,
certainly," replied the other, in a provoking
manner.

"Ah, you may call them guesses, but I know
better than that, and so do you." The philosopher
was used to his client's sceptical way of
talking, it being Lethwaite's habit always to
act as if he believed in Vampi, but to talk as if
he did not. The astrologer himself did not really
much care; he believed in himself, and that was
enough.

"Guesses!" he continued. " Ah, you little
know the certainty of Science and the extent of
her revelations. It is with us that the uncertainty
lies, and the difficulty. The truth is
all there," he said, pointing to the starlit sky,
"if we poor mortals could but read it. But we
gaze with dazzled eyes, and read with faltering
vision, and hence it is that we are liable to
mistakes. If I could venture — which I dare
not — to trust my mental vision altogether, I
could tell of things yet to come of which we see
no hint even, in the events which are going on
around us."

"And where do you see all these things?"
asked the disciple, for such he appeared to be
at the moment.

"There," replied the adept, pointing again to