CHAPTER VI.

At the top of the stairs there was an open door, from which what light there was in the sky streamed out upon the landing-place, upon the old oaken bannister which guarded the descent, and upon one half of the flight of steps to the floor below. This light was so bright, so clear, compared with that upon the common, especially when separated from it by the darkness of the stair-case, that Margaret and Ralph both thought for a moment that the clouds had cleared away, and that the sunshine was streaming through some window that they could not see. Such is the common effect of mounting to a high point when the atmosphere is very thick; but these two young people had never experienced it before, and they were surprised when they found, on looking up, that, through what they termed a window in the roof--in other words, a sky-light--the sky appeared as gray and clouded as ever. Now these sky-lights are supposed by many to have been unknown at the period I speak of, and the vanity of modern discovery leads men to believe that many things are new inventions which were as well known to our ancestors as to ourselves. It is the general introduction of comforts and conveniences that is slow; the discovery of them is often made centuries before they are applied.

There was a regular sky-light, with a small portion giving light to the top steps, while the larger part served to illumine the room beyond, the door of which was open.

The interior of the room was visible entirely to the eyes of Margaret and Ralph as they ascended, and very different was it from that of the learned Doctor Sidrophel, as described by Butler. It was nearly destitute of furniture. There were two chairs and one table, formed of old hard oak, upon which stood a telescope, pointing toward the sky-light I have mentioned. Beside it lay a number of mathematical instruments, and an enormous number of pieces of paper, or card, on which were inscribed an infinite quantity of lines and figures, only understood by the initiated. There were no stuffed beasts in the room, no skin of alligator or large lizard; but upon a board at the side were inscribed with a piece of chalk innumerable inscriptions and strange figures, which Margaret did not at all comprehend. Near the table--the only table which was to be seen--stood the master of the house, dressed in long black garments, with boots of yellow morocco leather. In short, his whole dress was singular, and at once denoted the profession of an astrologer. It was not gaudy, nor in bad taste. It seemed not as if he thought to proclaim his pretensions, but merely adopted a peculiar garb for his own convenience. His figure and appearance were impressive. He was a tall, powerful man of more than six feet in height, and unbowed by the weight of years, although many must have rolled over that tall, smooth brow, and the bald crown above. The hair on the temples and back of the head was as white as driven snow; but the eyebrows were still black as night, and but few wrinkles appeared in the soft, smooth skin, which was as fair and soft as that of any lady in the land.

At the moment when the lovers approached the door of the room, he was looking anxiously at some papers in his hand, and he seemed wholly engrossed by the subject of the moment. He moved not from the position in which he stood, but simply repeated once or twice the words "Come up!" and it was not until Margaret and Ralph had been some moments in the room that he moved his eyes to ascertain who were his visitors. At length he fixed a keen and eager glance upon them, and asked, in no very gentle tone, "What brings you here, young people? Come you to seek information of the past, or the present, or the future? I can tell you either, and will tell you; for I know you too well to fancy that it is some lost spoon, or strayed sheep, or any idle nothing of village life which brings you here, as so many are brought, to inquire of the _wise man_, whom they only think wise because he is different from themselves in their own foolishness."

He spoke in a somewhat sneering manner, and Ralph answered in a calm but bold one, "We have heard, sir," he said, "that you have studied deeply sciences of which we know nothing, and that you are capable of giving us information, or at least believe so, regarding our future fate. But you seem to know who and what we are already, and now we desire to hear, not what may be judged or fancied from the probabilities of our existing situation, but rather that which is indicated by science and calculation."

"You are a scholar, sir," said the astrologer, looking at him from head to foot, "and doubtless hold in contempt the things which other ages venerated. It is the mood of young scholars; but it matters not. I do know you both well. I know you from the cradle until now. The past, the present, and the future, as it regards you, are all before me. I knew when you would come here, and that was why I told you to come up, though I am not willing to be interrupted in my studies at this hour. Now, Ralph Woodhall, what would you that I should tell you? and you, Mistress Margaret, what is it you desire of me? Would you fair dreams and specious promises, visions of bright and golden happiness, love and enjoyment, long life, and a good old age? You will have none such from me. Do you wish to hear the truth, or do you not? Are you bold enough, fearless enough, to look upon the future with an unwinking eye, and shape your course accordingly?"

"I am," replied Margaret, in a firmer tone than might have been expected from her previous agitation; "it is for that I come. Say, Ralph, is it not better that we should know what is in store for us, than go on in doubt and uncertainty?"

Ralph was silent. There was something so impressive in the old man's mariner, a strong conviction, so clear in his own mind, that some belief was compelled; and yet the youth did not wish to acknowledge that he placed any reliance on the other's pretended science. The pride of argument and reason was against it; and he paused so long that the other went on with a somewhat angry frown.

"You are incredulous," he said, "or would seem so. Happily for you, belief or unbelief can not affect in any degree the immutable decree of Fate. Now mark me. I need not the day and hour of your birth. I know them both right well, and I will tell you broadly that which is coming. To you, lady, in the first place, let me say the little I have to say. Be true; be cautious; persevere! Strive not in any degree to resist what seems impending over you. Yield to it, without a pledge; but keep your troth pure and unsullied at the last, and you shall still be happy."

"But not without him," exclaimed Margaret, laying her hand upon Ralph's arm, and looking up in the old man's face eagerly, "not without him, or it can not be true happiness."

The cloud passed away from the old man's brow, and he looked at her with a smile the most sweet and benignant. "Truth will always make happiness," he said; "without truth there can be none. You know how you are plighted to each other. Be true to each other, and you shall be happy; but it will not be without sorrow, and trial, and difficulty. Now to you, young gentleman, I will speak. You are full of vain hopes and expectations; love makes you ambitious; and I tell you that you shall see one bright prospect fade away after another, and hopes extinguished as soon as they are born. You shall struggle on against hope, and meet with disappointment after disappointment. This is your course. Lo, I have told you!"

He paused for a moment, gazing fixedly upon the countenance of Ralph Woodhall, and then added, in a lower tone, "But persevere; be true, and be happy in the end. In the moment when you least expect it--by the means you least foresaw--your fate shall be worked out, and your success accomplished. But hark! there are others coming who must not find you here. Get you into this other room; keep you as still as death, and wait till they are gone."

Thus saying, he opened a door in the wainscot, disclosing a small chamber, utterly without furniture, and with one little window looking out upon the moor. There was a sound of horses' feet, and people speaking below; and the moment after the great bell rang, scaring Margaret and her lover into their place of concealment with very hurried steps. The voice of the old man was then heard, calling from the top of the stairs, in his loud, sonorous tones, "Come up!" and the instant after, another tongue was heard, shouting, "Where the fiend are you? Do you hide yourself in the attic? Truth they say lies in a well, and wisdom, it seems, at the top of the house."

"Wisdom and truth are not so far separate," said the old man, speaking rather to himself than to the other.

At the same moment, Margaret, who had been leaning on Ralph's arm, took a step forward, and shot a heavy bolt that was upon the door into the staple; and then, raising her beautiful lips toward her lover's ear till the sweet breath fanned his cheek, she whispered, "It is the voice of Robert Woodhall, your cousin and mine, Ralph, though nearer akin to you than to me."

"Little akin in kindness," replied the other, in the same low tone; "I have not seen him for seven or eight years, so I may well forget his voice. His haughty, imperious mother treated me so ill, and abused me so much when last I was at the castle, that I will never go again."

Margaret laid her finger on her lips, terrified lest their retreat should be disclosed by any sound; for steps were now heard coming fast up the stairs, and there seemed to be more than one visitor approaching. The next instant a voice sounded in the neighboring room, which both Margaret and Ralph knew well, for it was that of her own brother; and though it was more civil in its tone than that of the first who spoke, there was a great deal of that rough levity in the words, which was much affected by the young and dashing nobility of the day.

"Good-morning to you, Moraber," he said; "I have brought my cousin here, Lord Coldenham's son; or, rather, as I should say, Lord Coldenham's brother. We want to see which way the hunt has taken. I tell him you are a wise man, and he says to me nay, for that no wise man would live in this moor."

"Fools might be made judges of wise men, and yet not much hanging done in the land," replied the person he called Moraber; "not for want of folly enough in the judges, but for want of wise men to be judged."

"Come, Master Moraber, or whatever is your name," said the voice of Robert Woodhall, "show us a trick of your art. What in the fiend's name is this you have got on the table?"

"Something that you can not understand," replied the other; "an instrument that makes me see things that you can not see. What are you holding out your hands for? Do you suppose that I practice chiromancy? or do you come hither for the purpose of insult? If so, beware of your neck; for that window is high, and you may have a speedy path to the bottom."

"No, I don't come to insult you," replied the voice of the other, in somewhat craven tones; "how the devil should I know how you tell people's fortunes?"

"If you want palmistry, go to the Egyptians; I deal not with such trash. The luminous influences which rule the destinies of mankind, and which have been read with truth and certainty, from the days of the Chaldean sages down to this present hour, are the letters of the