Then she lifted the folded document, and looked darkly at the superscription: "Horoscope of the Heir of Kingsland." "Which the heir of Kingsland shall never see," she said, grimly unfolding it.

"Now for this mighty secret." She just glanced at the mystic symbols, the cabalistic signs and figures, and turned to the other side.

There, beautifully written, in long, clear letters, she saw her son's fate.
The morning wore on--noon came; the house was as still as a tomb.
Rosine, my lady's maid, with a cup of tea, ventured to tap at her ladyship's door.

There was no response.
"She sleeps," thought Rosine, and turned the handle.
But at the threshold she paused in wild alarm.

No, my lady did not sleep.