He did so, and looked steadily into it for some seconds, then he shook his head. "I can see nothing," he said. "Nothing!" said the boy; "can you see nothing?" "No. I see clouds and mist." "You have been engaged," said the boy, "in something that was not good—something that was not true; and it has dimmed the crystal sight. Look steadily, and if it is as I think, that your motive was not false, you will see more." Inglesant looked again; and in a moment or two gave a start, saying,—"The mist is breaking! I see;—I see a large room, with a chimney of carved stone, and a high window at the end; in the window and on the carved stone is the same coat many times repeated—three running greyhounds proper, on a field vert." "I know the room," said Eustace; "it is the inn parlour at Mintern, not six miles from Oulton. It was the manor of the Vinings before the wars, but is now an inn; that was their coat." "Do you see aught else?" said the adept. Inglesant gave a long look; then he stepped back, and gazed at the astrologer, and from him to his brother, with a faltering and ashy look. "I see a man’s figure lie before the hearth, and the hearthstone is stained, as if with blood. Eustace, it is either you or I!" "Look again," said the adept eagerly, "look again!" "I will look no more!" said Inglesant, fiercely; "this is the work of a fiend, to lure men to madness or despair!" As he spoke, a blast of wind—sudden and strong—swept through the room; the lamp burnt dim; and the fire in the brazier went out. A deathly coldness filled the apartment, and the floor and the walls seemed to heave and shake. A loud whisper, or muffled cry, seemed to fill the air; and a terrible awe struck at the hearts of the young men. Seizing the rod from the table, the adept assumed a commanding attitude, and waved it to and fro in the air; gradually the wind ceased, the dread coldness abated, and the fire burned again of its own accord. The adept gazed at Inglesant with a stern and set look. "You are of a strange spirit, young sir," he said; "pure in heart enough to see things which many holy men have desired in vain to see; and yet so wild and rebellious as to anger the blessed spirits with your self-will and perverse thoughts. You will suffer fatal loss, both here and hereafter, if you learn not to give up your own will, and your own fancies, before the heavenly will and call."