“She is all you describe,” replied Wyvil.

“Is she of your own rank?” asked Lilly.

“Scarcely so,” replied Wyvil, hesitating before he answered the question.

“I will instantly erect a scheme,” replied the astrologer, rapidly tracing a figure on a sheet of paper.  “The question refers to the seventh house.  I shall take Venus as the natural significatrix of the lady.  The moon is in trine with the lord of the ascendant,—­so far, good; but there is a cross aspect from Mars, who darts forth malicious rays upon them.  Your suit will probably be thwarted.  But what Mars bindeth, Venus dissolveth.  It is not wholly hopeless.  I should recommend you to persevere.”

“Juggler!” exclaimed “Wyvil between his teeth.

“I am no juggler!” replied Lilly, angrily; “and to prove I am not, I will tell you who you are who thus insult me, though you have not announced yourself, and are desirous of preserving your incognito.  You are the Earl of Rochester, and your companion is Sir George Etherege.”

“’Fore heaven! we are discovered,” cried the earl; “but whether by art, magic, or from previous acquaintance with our features, I pretend not to determine.”

“In either case, my lord,—­for it is useless, since you have avowed yourself, to address you longer as Wyvil,” replied Etherege,—­“you owe Mr. Lilly an apology for the insult you have offered him.  It was as undeserved as uncalled for; for he described your position with Amabel exactly.”

“I am sorry for what I said,” replied the earl, with great frankness, “and entreat Mr. Lilly to overlook it, and impute it to its real cause,—­disappointment at his judgment.”

“I wish I could give you better hopes, my lord,” replied Lilly; “but I readily accept your apology.  Have you any further questions to ask me?”

“Not to-night,” replied the earl; “except that I would gladly learn whether it is your opinion that the plague will extend its ravages?”

“It will extend them so far, my lord, that there shall neither be buriers for the dead, nor sound to look after the sick,” replied Lilly.  “You may have seen a little tract of mine published in 1651,—­some fourteen years ago,—­called ‘Monarchy or No Monarchy in England,’ in which, by an hieroglyphic, I foretold this terrible calamity.”

“I heard his majesty speak of the book no later than yesterday,” replied Rochester.  “He has the highest opinion of your skill, Mr. Lilly, as he cannot blind himself to the fact that you foretold his father’s death.  But this is not the only visitation with which you threaten our devoted city.”

“It is threatened by Heaven, not by me, my lord,” replied Lilly.  “London will be devoured by plague and consumed by fire.”

“In our time?” asked Etherege.

“Before two years have passed over our heads,” returned the astrologer.  “The pestilence originated in the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter in Sagittarius, on the 10th of last October, and the conjunction of Saturn and Mars in the same sign, on the 12th of November.  It was harbingered also by the terrible comet of January, which appeared in a cadent and obscure house, denoting sickness and death:  and another and yet more terrible comet, which will be found in the fiery triplicity of Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius, will be seen before the conflagration.”