and occupied with that particular branch
of hocus pocus, as the old clerk called it, which
had to do with the production of the "elixir."
His client had become more and more thirsty for
this rejuvenising draught with every instalment
which he had handed her; indeed, it was as
much as he could do to keep pace with her appetite.
Like old " Smagg," she had her seasons of
doubt and her seasons of confidence, and our
philosopher got the full benefit of both these
moods. If a candid friend told her one day that
she looked her age, the elixir and its oomppsei
came in for some very hard words, while, if on
another occasion some flatterer assured her that
she got younger every day, she had sweet words
and soft smiles for both the philosopher and his
mixture for some time to come.

The philosopher was always glad to see Julius
Lethwaite, and just now he was particularly so,
being, for him, in a desponding frame of mind.

"I think it must be the moon," he said, after
complaining to his visitor of the condition of his
animal spirits. " She's near the full, and I've
always observed that at such times my mind is
very much affected. I don't sleep so well, and am
more excited than I could wish. I don't think
we attribute half influence enough to the moon."

"Good Heavens! what nonsense!" said Jona-
than Goodrich to himself. " The moon, indeed!"

"The poet Shakespeare," continued Cornelius,
"who knew what he was about too well to doubt
the planetary influences which work upon us,
ascribes even the commission of deeds of violence
to the moon's power. ' It is,' says he, ' the very
error of the moon. She comes more near the
earth than she was wont, and makes men mad.'"

"I have myself fancied at times," observed
Lethwaite, reflectively, "that I have been
subjected to lunar influences."

Poor old Goodrich uttered a low groan at this,
and cast up his eyes to heaven.

"'Influences,'" repeated Vampi, taking no
notice of the old man's ejaculation—
"'influences,' why, it is a thing there can be no
doubt about. Whence, otherwise, such words as
moonstruck, lunatic, lunacy? I'll tell you what,
sir, there's something awful about the thought
of that pale, ghastly luminary hanging there in
space, a great chaos of uninhabited mountains
and valleys, and exhausted volcanoes and empty
craters. It's my belief, sir, that it's the ghost
of a dead world; and it's my advice to you to
give it a wide berth, as you would any other
ghost, and to keep out of the reach of its rays as
much as ever you can."

"I believe you're right," said Lethwaite,
musingly.

"There's my poor master infected now,"
thought Jonathan. "Mercy on us! what a pack
of nonsense they talk!"

"I wonder," resumed Lethwaite, in the same
speculative tone, " if the moon has had anything
to do with the complication of troubles and
dis-asters which have fallen on my poor friends
Gilbert and Gabrielle Penmore?"

The philosopher turned round from the stove
before which he was seated, at the sound of that
name, and gazed at his visitor for some seconds
in silence.

"'Penmore,'" he said, at last, '"Gabrielle
Pcmnore'—why, that was the name spoken of by
that poor deranged creature."

"What 'poor deranged creature?'" asked
Lethwaite, eagerly.

"A woman who came here one day to ask me
to work out a spell against some person of the
name you have mentioned."

"Against Gabrielle Penmore?" asked Julius
again.

"The same," replied the astrologer. "I met
her subsequently by chance in the Old Bailey
late at night. She said then that she had done
without the spell which I had refused to give
her. Her enemy was there, she said, in the prison;
and she actually seemed to caress the very walls
of Newgate."

"Great Heaven!" ejaculated Lethwaite, "how
extraordinary is the mixed malignancy and fidelity
of that woman!"

"Is she not mad, then?" asked Vampi.

"No more than you or I," was the answer.

"Then you know who she is?" asked Corne-
lius.

"I do not know; I can only guess. But putting
together her desiring a curse on the name of
Gabrielle Peumore, and her subsequent assertion
that the person who bore that name was shut up
in Newgate, I can only conclude that it must be
Jane Cantanker. Can you describe her?"

"A woman of about fifty years of age, tall of
stature and thin, with very black hair and dark
fiery eyes. When not talking, her mouth was
kept firmly shut, and she breathed by the nostrils
only." Cornelius was a great observer.

"The description corresponds closely enough,"
said Lethwaite, after reflecting for a moment.
It must have been Jane Cantanker herself."

"And who is she?" asked the philosopher.
"Who is Jane Cantanker?"

Mr. Lethwaite and the old clerk exchanged a
glance of intelligence.

"The answer to that question," said the former,
"involves us in rather a long story." With that
he proceeded to relate a great part of those
particulars with which the reader is already
acquainted, dwelling at some length upon that part
of the narrative which bore upon the circumstances
of Miss Carrington's death, and the
extraordinary mystery which hung over it.

Throughout the whole of the latter part of the
narrative, but more especially from the moment
that mention was made of the nature of the
poison which had been found in the body of the
deceased lady, and to which her death was
attributed, Lethwaite could not help being struck
by the extraordinary interest manifested by the
astrologer in every word that was spoken, and
the almost breathless emotion with which he
listened. Two or three times, indeed, he seemed
on the point of interrupting the narrative with