“Rantin’ Rody, in airnest, will you go up and have your fortune tould?”

“But wait,” he proceeded; “wait, I say,—­wait,—­I have it.”  And as he said so he went at the top of his speed down the street, and disappeared in Sol Donnel’s cabin.

“By this and by that,” said one of them, “Rtn’tin’ Rody will take spunk out of him, if it’s in him.”

“I think he had better have notin’ to do wid him,” said an old woman, “for fraid he’d rise the devil—­Lord guard us!  Sure it’s the same man that was in this very town the night he was riz before, and that the bonfire for Suil Balor (the eye of Balor, or the Evil Eye) Woodward was drowned by a shower of blood.  Troth I wouldn’t be in the same Woodward’s coat for the wealth o’ the world.  As for Rantin’ Rody, let him take care of himself.  It’s never safe to sport wid edged tools, and he’ll be apt to find it so, if he attempts to put his tricks upon the conjurer.”

In the meantime, while that gentleman was seated above stairs, a female, tall, slim, and considerably advanced in years, entered the room and took her seat.  Her face was thin, and red in complexion, especially about the point of a rather long nose, where the color appeared to be considerably deeper in hue.

“Sir,” said she, in a sharp tone of voice, “I’m told you can tell fortunes.”

“Certainly, madam,” he replied, you have been correctly informed.”

“You won’t be offended, then, if I wish to ask you a question or two.  It’s not about myself, but a sister of mine, who is—­ahem—­what the censorious world is pleased to call an old maid.”

“Why did your sister not come herself?” he asked; “I cannot predict anything unless the individual is before me; I must have him or her, as the case may be, under my eye.”

“Bless me, sir!  I didn’t know that; but as I am now here—­could you tell me anything about myself?”

“I could tell you many things,” replied the conjurer, who read old maid in every line of her face—­“many things not very pleasant for you to reflect upon.”

“O, but I don’t wish to hear anything unpleasant,” said she; “tell me something that’s agreeable.”

“In the first place, I cannot do so,” he replied; “I must be guided by truth.  You have, for instance, been guilty of great cruelty; and although you are but a young woman, in the very bloom of life—­”

Here the lady bowed to him, and simpered—­her thin, red nose twisted into a gracious curl, as thanking him for his politeness.

“In the very prime of life, madam—­yet you have much to be accountable for, in consequence of your very heartless cruelty to the male sex—­you see, madam, and you feel too, that I speak truth.”

The lady put the spectre of an old fan up to her withered visage, and pretended to enact a blush of admission.

“Well, sir,” she replied, “I—­I—­I cannot say but that—­indeed I have been charged with—­not that it—­cruelty—­I mean—­was ever in my heart; but you must admit, sir, that—­that—­in fact—­where too many press, upon a person, it is the more difficult choose.”