"I may not; it is spoken. Luke shall wed her." "Oh God, support me!" exclaimed Sybil. "Silly wench, be firm. It must be as I say. He shall wed her--yet shall he wed her not. The nuptial torch shall be quenched as soon as lighted; the curse of the avenger shall fall--yet not on thee." "Mother," said Sybil, "if sin must fall upon some innocent head, let it be on mine--not upon hers. I love him, I would gladly die for him. She is young--unoffending--perhaps happy. Oh! do not let her perish." "Peace, I say!" cried Barbara, "and mark me. This is your birthday. Eighteen summers have flown over your young head--eighty winters have sown their snows on mine. _You_ have yet to learn. Years have brought wrinkles--they have brought wisdom likewise. To struggle with Fate, I tell you, is to wrestle with Omnipotence. We may foresee, but not avert our destiny. What will be, shall be. This is your eighteenth birthday, Sybil: it is a day of fate to you; in it occurs your planetary hour--an hour of good or ill, according to your actions. I have cast your horoscope. I have watched your natal star; it is under the baleful influence of Scorpion, and fiery Saturn sheds his lurid glance upon it. Let me see your hand. The line of life is drawn out distinct and clear--it runs--ha! what means that intersection? Beware--beware, my Sybil. Act as I tell you, and you are safe. I will make another trial, by the crystal bowl. Attend." Muttering some strange words, sounding like a spell, Barbara, with the bifurcate hazel staff which she used as a divining-rod, described a circle upon the floor. Within this circle she drew other lines, from angle to angle, forming seven triangles, the bases of which constituted the sides of a septilateral figure. This figure she studied intently for a few moments. She then raised her wand and touched the owl with it. The bird unfolded its wings, and arose in flight; then slowly circled round the pendulous globe. Each time it drew nearer, until at length it touched the glassy bowl with its flapping pinions. "Enough!" ejaculated Barbara. And at another motion from her rod the bird stayed its flight and returned to its perch. Barbara arose. She struck the globe with her staff. The pure lymph became instantly tinged with crimson, as if blood had been commingled with it. The little serpent could be seen within, coiled up and knotted, as in the struggles of death. "Again I say, beware!" ejaculated Barbara, solemnly. "This is ominous of ill." Sybil had sunk, from faintness, on the pallet. A knock was heard at the door. "Who is without?" cried Barbara. "'Tis I, Balthazar," replied a voice. "Thou mayest enter," answered Barbara; and an old man with a long beard, white as snow, reaching to his girdle, and a costume which might be said to resemble the raiment of a Jewish high priest, made his appearance. This venerable personage was no other than the patrico, or hierophant of the Canting Crew.