The face of the weird woman changed—became ashen gray, her form became rigid, her eyes were fixed, her gaze was afar off in distant space.
"What is it, mother?" anxiously demanded the youth.
"I see your future and the emblem of your future—a splendid meteor, soaring up from the earth to the sky, filling space with light and glory! Dazzling a million of eyes, then dropping down, down, down into darkness and nothingness! That is you!"
"Mother Scythia!" exclaimed the youth, in troubled tones.
The weird woman never turned her head, nor withdrew her fearful, far-off stare into futurity.
"That is you. You are but a poor apprentice. But from this year you will soar, and soar, and soar to the zenith of place and power among your fellows! You will be the blazing meteor of the day! You will dazzle all eyes by the splendor of your success, and then, 'in an instant, in the twinkling of an eye,' you will drop into night, and nothingness, and be heard of no more!"
"Mother! Mother Scythia! Wake up! You are dreaming!" said Rule, laying his hand on the woman's shoulder and gently shaking her.
"Oh, what is this? Rule! What is it?"
"You have been dreaming, Mother Scythia."
"Have I?" said the woman, putting her hands to her forehead and stroking away the raven locks that over-shadowed it.