The Last of the Legions and Other Tales of Long Ago

irst big bit of business which has been left entirely in my hands. I must justify it. But it has to be finished so that the lawyers may have the result in time for the trial. Johnson said this mor

tant's life. When I find myself in the still early hours, while all the world sleeps, hunting through column after column for those

ledgers and think of the jungle through which I have to follow him before I get my kill. Hard work-but rare sport, too, in a way! I saw the fat fellow once at a City dinner, h

ut to a man who has a pack of wolves at his heels that what he wants is absolute quiet. My figures must be out by a certain date;

, or chloral, or something of the kind might do me good. But stop work? It's absurd to ask such a thing. It's like a long distance race. You feel queer at first and your heart thumps and your lungs pant, but if you have only the pluck to keep on, you

breakdown, even endangering my sanity." That's a nice sentence to have fired off at one. Well, I'll stand the str

interesting in themselves-"a curious psycho-physiological study," says the doctor-and also because I am perfectly certain that when I am through with them they will all seem blurred

ross and two feet high-and it leans at the back of a side-table on my left as I write. The frame is flat, about three inches across, and very old; far too old for hall-marks or other methods of determining its age. The glass part p

se occasions I chanced to look at the mirror. It had the oddest appearance. The red curtains which should have been reflected in it were no longer there, but the glass seemed to be clouded and steamy, not on the surface, which glittered like steel, but deep down in the very grain of it. This opacity, when I stared hard at it, appeared to slowly rotate this way and th

of a head I could see-a woman's by the hair, but this was very shadowy. Only the eyes were quite distinct; such eyes-dark, luminous, filled with some passionate emotion, fury or horror, I could not say which. Never have I seen eyes which were so full of intense, vivid life. The

d to tell myself that it was a subjective impression-a chimera of the nerves-begotten by worry and insomnia. But why this particular shape? And who is the woman, and what is the dreadful emotion which I read in those wonderful br

e last smile may remain with him if my own nerves break over it. The mirror would seem to be a sort of barometer

metal work at the back. He examined this with a lens, but could make nothing of it. "Sanc. X. Pal." was his final reading of it, but that did not bring us any further. He advised me to put it away into another room, but, after all

an extraordinary experience with it last night. And yet I find it so interesting, so fasc

h before me. The figure was small, but very distinct-so much so that every feature, and every detail of dress, are stamped in my memory. She is seated on the extreme left of the mirror. A sort of shadowy figure crouches down beside her-I can dimly discern that it is a man-and then behind them is cloud, in which I see fi

a touch of power and strength to what would otherwise be a softly feminine face. The brows are most delicately curved over heavy eyelids, and then come those wonderful eyes-so large, so dark, so full of overmastering emotion, of rage and horror, contending with a pride of self-control which holds her from sheer frenzy! The cheeks are pale, the lips white with agony, the chin and throat most exquisitely rounded. The figure sits and l

est of the crouching figure was a mere vague outline, but that strenuous hand shone clear on the dark background, with a sinister suggestion of tragedy in its frantic clutch. The man is frightened-horribly frightened. That I can clearly discern. What has terrified him so? Why does he grip the woman's dress? The answer lies amongst those moving figures in th

sult whatever. My soothing day has chased them away. I wonder whether I shall ever penetrate what they all mean? I examined the mirror this evening under a good light, and besides the mysterious inscription "Sanc. X. Pal.," I was able to discern some sig

all that I have told him, and cross-questioned me closely on the details. It amuses me to notice how he is torn in two by conflicting desires-the one that his patient should lose his symptoms, the other that the medium-for so

heir material. I will give them enough and to spare. I have him fast on a hundred counts. When they realise what a slippery, cunning rascal he is, I should gain some credit from the case.

monitions of trouble, and the trouble came sure enough. And yet my real sorrow is no

mly 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 yo

ich warns me that something must give. I have worked myself to the limit. But to-night should be the last night. With a

xperience! I hardly know if I am

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 hom

lumn had been added. And yet it was fine self-restraint, for all the time I knew that wonderful things were happening in the mirror. Every nerve in my body told me so. If I looked

nerves had wrought this amazing clarity. Every feature, every movement, was as clear-cut as in life. To think that I, a tired accountant, the mo

and fell. The blood did not flow from him-it squirted. His red dress was dabbled in it. He threw himself this way and that, purple upon crimson, like an over-ripe plum. Still they hacked, and still the jets shot from him. It was horrible-horrible! They dragged him kicking to the door. The woman looked over her shoulder at him and her mouth gaped. I heard nothing, but I knew that she was screaming. And then, whether it was

y?" he asked, with suspicion in his eyes. I assured him that I knew nothing of history. "Have you no idea whence that mirror came and to whom it once belonged?" he continued. "Have you?" I asked, for he spoke with meani

s words as closely as I can recall them. He be

566. Your description of the woman is accurate. The high forehead and heavy eyelids combined with great beauty could hardly apply to two women. The tall young man was her husband, Darnley. Rizzio, says the chronicle, 'was dressed in a loose

in bewilderment. "Why of

receive the impression. Because you chanced

it was Mary's mirror-that it stood

nce. Her personal property would be stamped with the Royal arms. Wha

e inscr

Palatium. Some one has made a note upon the mirror as

ood!"

ery singular experience, and have escaped. I trust that you