“It is a riddle?” she asked, wearily.
“A riddle?” Victor echoed. “Why, one may safely term it that. Is not the Future always a riddle? Nature knows the Future as the Past, but Nature holds it secret, lest man go mad with too much knowledge. Only to the few, the favoured, does she grant rare glimpses through media which she has provided for the use of the initiate—such as this crystal here, in which I was studying your future, when you came in, the high future I plan for you.”
“And—you won’t tell me?”
“I may not. It is forbidden. Nature deals unkindly with those who violate her confidence. But—who knows?”
He checked himself as if struck by a new turn of thought, and studied the girl’s face intently.
“Who knows?” he repeated, as if to himself.
“What—?”
“It is quite within the bounds of possibility,” Victor mused, “that you should have inherited some of the psychic power which was born in me. Perhaps—who knows?—to you as well Nature will be supple and disclose her secrets.... If you care to seek her favour?”
“But—how?”
“By consulting the crystal.”