“You are summoned; to-morrow you will hear a more copious record. The volume of futurity is not read in a moment; its page is filled with characters which require the sage’s expounding. Come to-morrow, and do not forget your gold. If you would learn the secrets hid in the bosom of time, you must pay the price.” Yhahil was disgusted at the impatient covetousness of the jiggerkhar, but her anxiety had become so predominant that she determined to purchase the promised prediction at whatever cost. She hastened to her home under a new but agreeable excitement. Like all her race, though naturally of a strong mind, she was superstitious. Superstition, in fact, was inseparable from the dogmas of that idolatrous creed in the belief of which she had been reared. Her two singular escapes from death had impressed her mind with a solemn assurance that she was fore-doomed to something uncommon. The impression haunted her, and she was impatient for the morrow, to hear her anxious longings confirmed by the oracle of the pythoness. Her father remarked the unusual vivacity of her manner, and was pleased, as it encouraged a hope that the root of her prejudice was losing its hold in her heart. The mother was no less overjoyed, and the outcast’s home was for that evening a scene of joy. By noon the following day Yhahil was again at the jiggerkhar’s dwelling. The crone was seated as before with the mangy dog upon her lap, and, as the anxious girl approached, extended her hand, exposing her withered palm. Yhahil placed a mohur upon it, but the long fingers did not close over the gold. The coin remained unclutched, yet the hand continued extended. The hag’s countenance darkened, and her eye emitted a fierce lurid glare. Another mohur was placed upon the former. The fingers immediately compressed the two pieces of pure mintage, the old woman’s countenance relaxed into a subdued expression of gratified avarice, the dog again licked her face, as if it participated in her satisfaction, and, rising, she said, “Follow me.” Yhahil entered the cave as she had done the preceding day, and remained some minutes without hearing a sound. At length the old woman’s voice was heard through the gloom as before. “The volume of futurity is still clasped. In the broad skies it is written that I shall read further, and that you shall know further, but not now; come to-morrow at this time, and you will ascertain what you seek to be informed.” The disappointed girl retired from the cavern, deeply mortified; but there was something too terrible in the aspect of the jiggerkhar to render expostulation prudent. She therefore departed without uttering a word. For several days the same mummery was repeated and the same pretences urged; the same fee was received at every visit. At length the crone, perceiving that the patience of her victim was gradually waning, promised her with an asseveration of blasphemous solemnity, that on the morrow her doom should be read upon paying a double fee.