“You are the only man, Stuart, that does not admire your wife,” said Willox, in a half jocular tone.
“May be so,” said Stuart dryly.
“If you were not bewitched, as my skill tells me that you are, you would find more happiness at your own fireside than you do,” continued Willox.
“Maybe I am bewitched,” said Stuart, from the mere desire of being civil.
“I tell you I know you are,” said Willox, “and if you will allow me I shall soon show you the people who have bewitched you.”
“Ha! ha! I should like to see them,” said Stuart with a forced laugh; “but if you do show them to me, you are even a greater conjuror than I take you to be.”
Willox, with great solemnity, now took forth the mermaid’s stone from his pocket. It was semi-transparent, circular, and convex, like an ordinary lens, and it filled the palm of his hand. Placing the back of his hand on the table, and keeping the stone in the hollow of it, he solemnly addressed Stuart.
“If you would know those who bewitch you,” said he, “look downwards through the mermaid’s stone.”
“I see nothing,” said Stuart, following his direction.
“Do you see nothing now?” demanded Willox.