orrow came back; how it
oppressed me.

I bent down in tender sympathy to look again upon his wasted features,
and kneeling, gazed into his wide-open eyes. The calm of promised
peace upon his brow was distorted by the unsatisfied expression of one
who has left his work undone.

So are the sins of the fathers visited upon their children, for I was
no longer in doubt but that the murderer, Pedro Ortez, was the sinning
ancestor of my old-time friend. Even in his presence my thoughts flew
to Agnes; had she not spoken of her grandsire as being such a man? The
stiffening body at my side was speedily forgotten in the music of this
meditation.

I gained my feet again and looked down upon him, fascinated by the
changeless features of the dead. It was probably natural that standing
there I should revolve the whole matter over and over again, from the
first I knew of it until the last. A young man's plans, though, work
ever with the living; the dead he places in their tomb, covers them
with earth, bids them "God-speed," and banishes the recollection. I
was already busy with my contemplated search for the last d'Artin, and
stood there leaning against the oaken table pondering over the
question, "Where is the last d'Artin?"

My mind wandered, returning with a dogged persistence to that one
thought, "Where is the last d'Artin?" "Where could _I_ find him?" My
restless eyes roamed round the cheerless room, coming always back to
rest upon a long dust-covered mirror set in the wall across the way.

As wind-driven clouds gather and group themselves in fantastic shapes,
so, deep in that mirror's shadowy depths, a vague figure gradually took
form and character--myself.

With the vacant glance of a man whose mind is intensely preoccupied, I
studied minutely the reflection, my own bearing, my dress, my weapons.
I even noted a button off my coat, and tried dimly to remember where I
had lost it, until--great God--this chamber of death and revelation had
turned my brain.

What face was that I saw? My own, assuredly, but so like another.

Aghast, powerless to move or cry out, I stared helplessly into the
glass. Every other sensation vanished now before this new-born terror
which held my soul enslaved. I closed my eyes, I dared not look.

My body seemed immovable with horror, but a trembling hand arose and
pointed at the mirror. Scant need there was to call attention to that
dim, terrible presence; my whole soul shrank from t