“How say you?  What do you know of the events of this night, Sir Astrologer?”

“Much, Sir Jasper Kingsland, and for the very reason you deride—­because I am an astrologer.  I read the stars, and I lift the veil of the future, and, lo!  I behold your life years before you have lived it!”

Sir Jasper Kingsland laughed a cynical, unbelieving laugh.

“You jeer at me, you scoff at my words,” murmured the old man, in soft, steady tones, “and yet there was no one to tell me on my way here that a son and heir had been born to the house of Kingsland within the past hour.”

He lifted his arm and pointed to the clock, his dark eyes fixed upon the baronet’s changing face.

“You deride the power I profess, yet every day you quote your English poet, and believe him when he says:  ’There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy.’  But I am accustomed to derision, and it does not offend me.  Let me prove my power, so that even the most resolute skeptic dare doubt no longer.  Judge of my skill to read the future by my ability in reading the past.  I have come here—­I have taken a long journey to look into the future of your new-born son.  Before I begin, let me look into the past of his father.  Sir Jasper Kingsland, let me read your palm.”

But Sir Jasper drew back.

“You have taken a long journey to look into the future of my son?  Pray, what is my son to you?”

“That is my secret, Sir Jasper, and my secrets I keep.  Come, hold forth your hand, and test my skill.”

“Why should I?  Even if you can bring before me my past life, of what use will it be, since I must know all better than you?”

“My power to read the past may prove my power to read the future.”

“Nay, you may easily know the past, without magical skill.  Many thanks, my venerable friend, but I will not put your necromancy to the test.”

“Is Sir Jasper Kingsland afraid?” he said.  “Surely not, for he comes of a daring race.  And yet it seems like it.”

“By Heaven! if a younger man had spoken those words I would have hurled him by the throat from yonder window.  Be careful of your words, old man, else even your hoary hairs may fail to save you.”

Once more the astrologer bent servilely.

“I cry your mercy, my haughty Lord of Kingsland.  It shall be as you say.  I will depart as I came.  I will not serve you nor your new-born son, since you refuse to be served.  I will depart at once.  I fear no earthly storm.  Good-night, Sir Jasper Kingsland.  Look to the heir of your house yourself.  When ‘angels unaware’ visit you again, treat them better than you have treated me.”

With a gesture indescribably grand and kingly, the silver-haired old man turned to go, folding his long cloak about him.  But the voice of the baronet called him back.

“Stay,” he said.  “You speak of serving my son.  What danger threatens his infant life that you can avert?”