Part 33 (2/2)

He moved as if to rise.

”Look once more--a little closer,” urged the gla.s.s.

Olof brushed his moustache and smiled.

”Can't you see anything?” the gla.s.s went on, with something like a sneer. ”Under the eyes, for instance?”

And suddenly he saw. The face that stared at him from the gla.s.s was pale, and marked by the lines and wrinkles of those past years. And under the eyes were two dark grey furrows, like heavy flourishes to underline a word.

”Is it possible?” he cried, with a shudder.

”Is it any wonder?” said the gla.s.s coldly.

The face in the gla.s.s was staring at him yet, with the dark furrows under the eyes.

”But what--how did they come there?” asked Olof in dismay.

”Need you ask?” said the gla.s.s. ”Well, you have got your 'mark,'

anyhow--though it was not one you asked for.”

The face in the mirror stared at him; the dark furrows were there still. He would have turned his head away, or closed his eyes, but could not. He felt as if some great strong man were behind him with a whip, bidding him sternly ”Look!”

And he looked.

”Look closer--closer yet!” commanded his tormentor. ”A few deep lines--and what more?”

Olof looked again. The plainer furrows tailed off into a host of smaller lines and tiny folds, this way and that, there seemed no end to them. And again he shuddered.

”Count them!” cried the voice behind him.

”Impossible--they--they are so small!”

”Small they may be--but how many are there?”

Olof bent forward and tried to count.

”Well?”

No answer.

”How many are there?” thundered the voice--and Olof saw the whip raised above his head.

”Nine or ten, perhaps,” he answered.

”More! And what do they mean? Can you tell me that?”

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