“That is the voice of the wise woman,” said Cherry.  “Come, Cuthbert, and fear nothing.”

Together the pair stepped over the threshold, and again the door closed noiselessly behind them, and the bolt flew as it seemed of itself into its socket.  Cuthbert did not altogether relish this locking of doors behind them as they went; but Cherry, who had been here before, did not seem to mind, and doubtless it was but prudence that had taught the old woman to carry on her arts secretly if she wished to escape imprisonment or death.

Glancing curiously round him, Cuthbert saw himself in a long, low, narrow room that was all in deep shadow save at the upper end, where a soft bright light was burning, carefully shaded at one side, and so arranged that whilst it illuminated the features of those who stood beside the table behind which the oracle sat, it left the features of the wise woman herself in the deepest shadow, a pair of small black beady eyes being at first glance the only feature Cuthbert could distinguish.

The lamp stood upon a table, and the old woman, clad from head to foot in a long black mantle, sat on the farther side.  There were a few implements of her profession about her—­one or two big books, a crystal bowl containing some black fluid very clear and sparkling, an ebony wand, and a dusky mirror in a silver frame.  She fixed her bright bead-like eyes upon her guests as they advanced, and asked in her cracked, harsh tones: 

“Who comes here?”

“Two persons desirous of testing your skill,” answered Cuthbert boldly.  “It is told me that you can read the future; I would ask if you can also look back into the past?”

He felt the snake-like glance bent fixedly upon him.  There was a subtle fascination in those eyes, and he looked into them fixedly whether he would or no.  As his eyes became used to the dimness in which the old woman sat, he saw that her face was brown and wrinkled like a fragment of ancient parchment, that her features were very sharp and wasted, and that there was something weird and witch-like in her whole aspect.  He felt as though he had seen before some face that that withered one faintly resembled, but in the confusion of the moment he could put no name to it.  He wanted to keep his head, and to retain his firmness and acuteness, but he was conscious of a strange whirling in his brain as the old woman continued to gaze and gaze upon him as though she would never be satisfied with her inspection.

At last she spoke again.

“And who art thou that comest so boldly to pry into the dead secrets of the past?”

“I am one Cuthbert Trevlyn, son of a house that has suffered sore vicissitudes.  I come to ask the skill of the wise woman in discovering a secret long hidden from our family.”

He stopped suddenly, for the woman held up her hand as if to stop him, and her voice took a strange hissing tone.

“Silence!  Enough—­thou hast spoken enough.  Let me now tell thee the rest.  I will tell thee what thou hast come to seek for.  Silence!  I will consult the spirits; they will tell me all.”