"Curse the knave of hearts," cried Pat, starting up, "I have had enough of this. I do believe you've been playin' wid me all this time. Good-bye"——
"Stay one minute; you think I've been playing with you, eh?" said the old witch, rising, and speaking in a mysteriously solemn tone of voice, "Young man, have you strength of mind enough to look upon the magic glass, and have your eyes convinced?"
"What mean you?" exclaimed Pat.
"To show you what you least wish to see—Norah and her cousin in each other's arms."
"Impossible; you're juggling with me now; you cannot show me that."
"Look!" screamed old Biddy, tearing back the dingy curtain—and there, sure enough, within the frame of the mirror, locked in each other's embrace, were Norah and Peter.
The suddenness of the disclosure, combined with the terror of the moment, acting upon a frame rendered weak from apprehension, made the blood rush into the brain of the unfortunate lover, and without uttering a sound, he fell heavily to the floor in a faint.
It was some time before he was restored to consciousness, when the first form that fell upon his sight was that of the detested Peter. He shut his eyes in the misery of unavailing rage, but opened them again in astonishment, as a well-known voice whispered in his ear:
"Dear Pat, it's your own Norah that's beside you."
Pat's delight was perfectly indescribable, and I shrink from the responsibility of attempting it; suffice it to say, for the elucidation of our mystery, that Norah and Peter were beforehand with him at old Biddy's, when, seeing him approach, they hid themselves behind the curtain. Norah had such a convincing proof of Pat's truthful love, that she never quarrelled with him again—at least before they were married: of their further proceedings I frankly confess my ignorance.