what he had to give was given freely, and for
nothing.

And let no one suppose that Vampi was an
impostor. An impostor is one who, with an
eye to profit, or, at any rate, to his own advancement
in some way or other, professes a thing
in which he does not really believe. Now,
Vampi believed. He was in many respects a
child, and he was a child in his belief in those
occult arts to which he was devoted. He had
this great and rare quality of belief to a most
wonderful and comforting extent, and this it
was that made him so completely the oracle of
the poor people in his neighbourhood. He
believed in the advice which he himself gave. He
believed in his own drugs, in his herbs, and his
corn-plaisters. And so, in like manner, he had
confidence in the horoscopes which he cast, and
in those strange house-breaking propensities
which, in the parlance adopted by the astrological
fraternity, are so freely attributed to the
different planets.

That visit of Julius Lethwaite to the
philosopher which was described in the last chapter,
left Cornelius in a high state of triumph. It
was not often that such rapid success followed
his labours. It was not often that his predictions
were fulfilled in such a remarkable
manner as they had been in the case of our
cynical friend. It was too often the case that
counter-influences would get to work and make
his prophecies break down in the most grievous
fashion. But here was a case in which he had
predicted a great danger, nay, had almost
specified it, and had bidden him over whom that
danger hung to exercise an especial care and
caution, if possible to avert it. And upon this
man whom he had thus forewarned, suddenly,
and almost immediately after the prediction
had been uttered, behold there had fallen heavy
losses, and great trouble had come upon him.
"It is prodigious," said Cornelius, "and, except
for the poor gentleman's own sake, eminently
satisfactory." For though our philosopher was
an entire believer in his predictions, as has been
said, he believed in them and in his art, perhaps,
even more fully when those predictions canie
true than when they did not. For Vampi was
human.

"I wonder why I could not tell him the
precise nature of what he had to fear, but only
that there was something. Ah, I shall be able
to read more clearly soon, to see more and
more distinctly."

It was immediately after Lethwaite had left
him that our philosopher fell into this course
of reflection. It will be remembered that he
had been summoned to attend "the strange
lady" in the shop below, but had forgotten all
about it in the triumph of the moment. He
now remembered that the lady was waiting, and
was just leaving the sanctum to attend her,
when he encountered the faithful Mr. Smaggsdale
dale on the stairs. He had come up to remind
his patron that the lady was getting impatient.

"She said she was to see you particular
tonight, and that you know it," said Mr. Smaggsdale.

"Yes, it's all right. I'm going down now."

"The other party about the elixir of youth
was here to-day. She says she's taken one
bottle, and that it hasn't done much for her;
for that she met an old acquaintance of forty
years' standing in the street, and he said, 'Ah,
ma'am, you and I both begin to show our
years,' and she ain't best pleased."

"Ah, she must have patience, Smagg — she
must have patience," said the philosopher, as
he descended the stairs.

The strange lady was waiting for him in the
shop. She had taken up her accustomed position
in the darkest corner that was to be found,
and the furthest away from the door. She had
even got the stuffed alligator between her
and the light, and his shadow fell upon her.
She was dressed as usual, her veil was closely
folded over her face, and her figure was greatly
concealed by the folds of her dark woollen
shawl.

She was standing, impatiently tapping the
counter, as people do when they are kept waiting,
and when Cornelius at length appeared,
she seemed to reproach him for having oeen so
long in coming to her. Then the usual
transaction took place between them, she handing
to him something wrapped in paper, and he
retiring to the back shop, and reappearing with
a similar package, which he handed to her with
a bow, and addressing to her some words,
spoken in an under tone.

"And now, madam," he added, aloud, "if
you'll follow me, I'll show you the way to my
observatory, where we can talk of matters of a
more spiritual sort." And so saving, he led the
way to where there was a division in the
counter, and lifting a portion of it which moved
upon hinges, he made way for the lady to pass
behind. Then he opened the door at the back,
which gave access to the staircase, and they
both ascended together.

The lady had to pause more than once on the
way up, and when she at length reached the
sanctum, was very much out of breath.

"You are in weak health," said the
philosopher, speaking gently to her. "Those stairs
ought not to have distressed you so much.
Look at me!" And he stood before her as
calm and unmoved as if he had just risen from
an easy-chair, and his breath came as quietly as
that of a sleeping child.

"Ah, you are used to it," said the lady;
and she began to look about the strange place,
and to examine it with an appearance of
curiosity.

"What a curious room," she said, as she
warmed her hands at the stove. " It is like the
laboratory of some alchemist. Do you seek for
the philosopher's stone?"

"No, madam. I do no such mad thing as
that," replied our herbalist. It waa a curious
thing in his character that he would have
nothing to say to alchemy, and, indeed, treated
its pretensions with contempt.