been in the upper story:  none were visible.  All this splendour was manifestly inconsistent with the homely taste and abstracted mode of thought of the sorceress.  In point of fact she was hardly aware of its existence.  The decorator was Tita, in whom was the instinct of the connoisseur, supported by no inconsiderable knowledge to which she had attained in those early years of which she never could be induced to speak.  When a rich prize was brought into the bay, freighted with a cargo from Asia, Africa, or the European shores of the Mediterranean, she never failed to attend the unloading, during which, by the help of cajolery, judicious depreciation, and other ingenious devices still dear to the virtuoso, she succeeded in obtaining possession of articles which would have enraptured a modern collector.  Judith was apparently indifferent to a habit which she looked upon as a caprice of her faithful servant, and the only evidence of her noticing it was her concentration in her own apartments of all that related to her personal studies and pursuits.

It was now Jean’s turn to listen and learn, and Hilda’s to explain and instruct.  Towards nine o’clock he was preparing to return.  He was indifferent to the darkness, as by this time he knew the track so well that he crossed it fearlessly at all hours.  His hand was on the bolt when Tita announced in alarm that Judith was returning and was on the point of entering.  Hardly was there time to conceal him behind the hangings before she appeared.  Her countenance was pale and worn, her tone, as Hilda took off her outer garments was weary and sad.  “The portents were hostile and dangerous,” she said; “they foretold woe, disaster, ruin.  Will the mighty ones reveal to me the future?  I cannot tell!  But my spirit must commune with them till dawn breaks.  Dost hear them?  They call me now!” She held up her finger as a sudden blast rocked the tower to its foundations.  “Aye,” she continued more firmly after a pause, “they will not forget those who are true to them.  But this people! this people!” She hid her face with her hands as if to cover a painful vision.  After a time she rose to her feet and took the girl by the hand.  Leading her to the seat by the window on which she placed herself, and making her kneel by her side, she said—­

“Hilda! the chill mist closes round! my life draws to its end!  Nay, weep not, child! were it not for thee I would long ere this have prayed the gods my masters to remove me from my sojourn among the degenerate sons of our noble fathers; but I trembled for thy fate, sweet one!” These last words were almost inexpressibly tender.  “I dared not trust thy slight frame to battle unsheltered with the storm.  Now the blast summoning me is sounded.  I cannot much longer disobey, though I may crave for brief respite.  But I have found thee refuge! thou wilt be in a safe haven.  Stay!  I must speak while the spirit is on me!”

“Mother!” sobbed the girl, clasping the old woman’s knees.