“Not as many as I used to have. I am growing old and dull, and those who have their fortunes told generally go for amusement and ridicule; and now that age and disease have made me severe and grave, they seek others who can entertain them better.”
I was about to propose other questions, but observing that Blanche had gone to the entrance, and was beckoning me, I placed a gold piece in the woman’s hand, and joined her. Acte followed me to the door of the rock.
“I shall see you again, I feel I shall. At some future day you will find me a true prophet, although now you disbelieve my words. Farewell to both of you.”
We descended the hill whence we came; Blanche thoughtful and depressed, and I somewhat influenced by Acte’s mysterious predictions. The shadows of evening gathered round us as we entered the fashionable street, Toledo, now thronged with the beauty and fashion of Naples, enjoying their daily rides, drives, and promenades, along the beautiful shores of the bay.
As we walked along the street toward our own home, ourselves observing and observed, an elegant English phæton, driven by a footman, in blue and orange, and occupied by a young man, lovely as an angel, indolently lolling against its cushions, came gliding by. As it passed us, the gentleman stared long at Blanche, and then bowed; her face flushed to crimson, as she returned the salutation. I noticed also he leaned out of the carriage, and looked after her.
“What a splendid looking man,” I involuntarily exclaimed; “who is he?”
“The Lord of Glenfells; a Scottish nobleman. I saw him at Munich,” answered she, hesitatingly.
“Are you well acquainted with him?”
“Yes, he has visited me.”