"Do you really?" exclaimed Constance. "Why, I--but you mean you've guessed what has hap----" "It's not guessing, it's _seeing_," answered the Countess. "I'm in one of my psychic moods to-day. A prophecy of mine has come true?" "No-o--yes. Well, in a way you're right. In a way you're wrong. What is it you see?" "I see that you've lost something--probably last night. This morning I waked with the impression. I wasn't surprised when you telephoned. Now, let me go on holding your hand, and _think_. I'll shut my eyes. I don't need my room and the crystal. Yes! The impression grows clearer. You _have_ lost something. But it is not a thing to care about. You're glad it's gone." "You _are_ extraordinary!" Constance wondered aloud. "Can you see what I lost--and whether it was Dick's or mine, or both?" "His," said Madalena, after shutting her eyes again. "_His._ And he does not care much, either. That seems strange. But I tell you what I _feel_." "You are telling me the truth," Constance admitted. "Now, go on: tell what was the thing itself--and the way we lost it." "I haven't seen that yet. I haven't tried. Perhaps I shall be able to, in the crystal; perhaps not. I don't always succeed. But--it comes to me suddenly that this thing isn't directly or entirely what brought you here?" "Right again, O Witch!" laughed Connie. "I came to ask you to find out--you're so marvellous!-why I didn't lose _other_ things, which I really _do_ value." The two women had been standing in the drawing room, Lady Annesley-Seton's hand still in the Countess's. But now, without speaking again, Madalena led her visitor into the room adjoining, which was fitted up much as the room at the Devonshire hotel had been for her first seance. The seeress gave herself, here at home, the same background of purple velvet; the floor was carpeted with black, and spread with black fur rugs; she was never without fragrant white lilies ranged in curious pots along the purple walls; but in her own house the appointments were more elaborate and impressive than the temporary fittings she carried about for use when visiting. On her table was a cushion of cloth-of-gold, embroidered with amethysts and emeralds, the "lucky" jewels of her horoscope; and her gleaming ball of crystal lay like a bright bubble in a shallow cup of solid jet which, she told everyone, had been given her in India by the greatest astrologer in the world. What was the name of this man, and when she had visited him in India, she did not reveal. They sat down at the table, she and Constance Annesley-Seton, opposite each other. Madalena unveiled the crystal, which was hidden under a covering of black velvet when not in use. At first she gazed into the glittering ball in vain, and her companion watched her face anxiously. It looked marble white and expressionless as that of a statue in the light of seven wax candles grouped together in a silver candelabrum.