And suddenly he saw. The face that stared at him from the glass 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 glass coldly.
The face in the glass 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 glass. "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?"