"The two you have looked into are gratuitous," he continued. "For what you beheld in them there is no charge. But a sight of the visions in the other two or in either one of them must be paid for. So far, you are welcome as my guest; but if you wish to see any more you must pay the price." I asked what the charge was, as I thrust my hand into my pocket to be certain that I had my purse with me. He saw my gesture, and he smiled once more. "The visions I can set before you in those two instruments you have not yet looked into are visions of your own life," he said. "In that stand there," and he indicated one behind my back, "you can see five of the most important episodes of your past." I withdrew my hand from my pocket. "I thank you," I said, "but I know my own past, and I have no wish to see it again, however cheap the spectacle." "Then you will be more interested in the fourth of my instruments," he said, as he waved his thin, delicate hand towards the stand which stood in front of me. "In this you can see your future!" I made an involuntary step forward; and then, at a second thought, I shrank back again. "The price of this is not high," he continued, "and it is not payable in money." "How, then, should I buy it?" I asked, doubtingly. "In life!" he answered, gravely. "The vision of life must be paid for in life itself. For every ten years of the future which I may unroll before you here, you must assign me a year of life--twelve months--to do with as I will." Strange as it seems to me now, I did not doubt that he could do as he declared. I hesitated, and then I fixed my resolve. "Thank you," I said, and I saw that he was awaiting my decision eagerly. "Thank you again for what I have already seen and for what you proffer me. But my past I have lived once, and there is no need to turn over again the leaves of that dead record. And the future I must face as best I may, the more bravely, I think, that I do not know what it holds in store for me." "The price is low," he urged. "It must be lower still," I answered; "it might be nothing at all, and I should still decline. I cannot afford to be impatient now and to borrow knowledge of the future. I shall know all in good time." He seemed not a little disappointed as I said this. Then he made a final appeal: "Would you not wish to know even the matter of your end?" "No," I answered. "That is no temptation to me, for whatever it may be I must find fortitude to undergo it somehow, whether I am to pass away in my sleep in my bed, or whether I shall have to withstand the chances of battle and murder and sudden death." "That is your last word?" he inquired. "I thank you again for what I have seen," I responded, bowing again; "but my decision is final." "Then I will detain you no longer," he said, haughtily, and he walked towards the circling curtains and swept two of them aside. They draped themselves back, and I saw before me an opening like that through which I had entered.