"Power," echoed Vampi. "Of what sort?"
"Why, power to benefit them, or—or—maybe
to injure them."

The astrologer lifted his eyes from the elixir
in whose composition he was engaged, and fixed
them upon his visitor. The result of his scrutiny
seemed hardly satisfactory. His face wore a
dissatisfied look as he returned to his pipkin.
"Now, what is this woman driving at?" he said
to himself.

"Power, both for good and evil I have
undoubtedly," he said aloud, and Cantanker
brightened up at the words. "For good, in
that I can direct those whose future I make the
subject of study, what they should do in certain
emergencies, how they may make the most of
the good chances which are to come in their way,
and steer clear of dangers which menace them.
In that way I have certainly power for good."

"And for evil?" asked the woman, eagerly.

"Power for evil," replied the philosopher,
eyeing her curiously, "I might have in this
way. I might see my client in peril, might feel
certain that some Sword of Damocles was hanging
over him, might see him drawing nearer at
every step which he took to the precipice over
which, unwarned, he would certainly fall, and
might abstain from uttering the words which
would turn him aside from the path of danger.
All this I might do certainly, and so exercise a
power for evil which, though negative, should
be still of deadly efficacy."

"But it is more than this that I want," the
woman went on, wrought up now to a revelation
of the real object of her mission. "There is a
person in existence who has been guilty of a
crime which I desire to see avenged, who has
struck at me, not indeed intentionally, but in
striking at one whom I loved, and had loved for
years, one whom it was my pride and happiness
to serve, and who now lies dead and cold,
murdered by the hand of this person of whom I
speak, and against whom I would have you
direct all the power of evil which you may
possess, or can by any means gain through some of
those secret arts that you practise."

"But is this person guilty?"

"Yes, a hundred times yes."

"Then, let justice do its work."

"Yes, and so it shall. But justice may fail.
I want to be secure of my revenge. These
magistrates and coroners, these judges and juries,
may fail. I have no belief in them. They are
fools, and a winning face and a seeming innocent
manner may hoodwink them, and turn them
from the truth. I want something more, I tell
you. Can you give it me?"

"Give you what?"

"A charm, a spell—something that shall be
as a curse upon this one of whom I speak—a
curse under which she shall lie without power to
rise—a spell that shall bind her hand and foot—
a spell against her life, against the life of—
you'll want her name; it's a French one, Gabrielle,
don't forget it—Gabrielle Penmore. Draw
up a curse—a witchcraft spell against that name."

"Stop, woman, stop," cried Cornelius. "I
know nothing of such arts as these, nor wish to
know."

"What! Have you given up your mind to
studying the stars and learning all about their
movements, and their twistings and turnings
this way and that, and one circumventing
another, and all the rest of it, and all to so little
purpose, that you can't bring what you know to
bear upon something useful, such as helping
those you want to help, and crushing those you
want to destroy? Are there no evil stars
whose aid you can depend upon? Have you no
incantations which compels their services, no
spells which they cannot resist?"

Cornelius was almost terrified at the violence
of his new client. In all his experience, no
such person as this had ever come in his way.

"All these things that you speak of may be
possible," he said at last, for he was unwilling
to limit the capabilities of his art. "All this
power may be mine——"

" 'May be!' " repeated the woman,
scornfully.

"Yes, 'may be,' " repeated Cornelius, stoutly.
"It is not for me to say how great are the
resources of the art mystic, or what wondrous
gifts it can confer upon its students. Twenty
or thirty years is but a short time to have
devoted to the arcana, and that is all the study
I can boast of. It may be that additional years
of research and thought might lead me on to
additional discoveries, and to some among them
which would impart such powers as those you
speak of. But even were it so–were such
capacity for evil within my grasp so that I
should see the victim of my skill withering
under my curse, consuming to nothing beneath
my spell—know that this gift should lie
unclaimed for me, from day to day, and from year
to year. My ambition is to do good to man,
not evil, to work out the relief of suffering
humanity, not to lay fresh loads of sorrow on it.
You are mistaken, ma'am, and have mistaken
me. You have come to consult a Samuel, when
you should have sought out a Witch of Endor."

The expression which developed itself upon
the countenance of Jane Cantanker as she
listened to this speech of the benevolent
astrologer, was one of the most profound and
unmitigated wonder, gradually merging into
contempt and pity. For some time she remained
silent, gazing at our stout philanthropist in
speechless scorn. At last she rose to go.

"You are right," she said; "I have been
mistaken. I came here thinking to find a man
gifted with supernatural powers, and ready to
turn them to some account; for I have money
here. I came to buy a spell, not to beg one."

"You can neither buy nor beg aught of me,"
said Cornelius, rising in turn, and speaking
with infinite dignity, "that shall do an injury to
any member of the human race. You have
mistaken me, as I said before, and I will now ask
you to relieve this poor workshop, in which you
have not found the wares you looked for, of
your presence, and leave me as you found me—
harmlessly at work."