o much that the vision should
come as that it should cease before all is revealed.

But I saw more to-night. The crouching man was as visible as the lady
whose gown he clutched. He is a little swarthy fellow, with a black
pointed beard. He has a loose gown of damask trimmed with fur. The
prevailing tints of his dress are red. What a fright the fellow is in,
to be sure! He cowers and shivers and glares back over his shoulder.
There is a small knife in his other hand, but he is far too tremulous
and cowed to use it. Dimly now I begin to see the figures in the
background. Fierce faces, bearded and dark, shape themselves out of the
mist. There is one terrible creature, a skeleton of a man, with hollow
cheeks and eyes sunk in his head. He also has a knife in his hand. On
the right of the woman stands a tall man, very young, with flaxen hair,
his face sullen and dour. The beautiful woman looks up at him in
appeal. So does the man on the ground. This youth seems to be the
arbiter of their fate. The crouching man draws closer and hides himself
in the woman's skirts. The tall youth bends and tries to drag her away
from him. So much I saw last night before the mirror cleared. Shall I
never know what it leads to and whence it comes? It is not a mere
imagination, of that I am very sure. Somewhere, some time, this scene
has been acted, and this old mirror has reflected it. But when--where?

_Jan. 20._--My work draws to a close, and it is time. I feel a tenseness
within my brain, a sense of intolerable strain, which warns me that
something must give. I have worked myself to the limit. But to-night
should be the last night. With a supreme effort I should finish the
final ledger and complete the case before I rise from my chair. I will
do it. I will.

_Feb. 7._--I did. My God, what an experience! I hardly know if I am
strong enough yet to set it down.

Let me explain in the first instance that I am writing this in Dr.
Sinclair's private hospital some three weeks after the last entry in my
diary. On the night of January 20 my nervous system finally gave way,
and I remembered nothing afterwards until I found myself three days ago
in this home of rest. And I can rest with a good conscience. My work was
done before I went under. My figures are in the solicitors' hands. The
hunt is over.

And now I must describe that last night. I had sworn to finish my work,
and so intently did I stick to it, though my head was bursting, that I
would