"Yes, at last."
"To ancient deaf old party and young lady, I suppose," muttered Pringle to himself, as he removed the card from the window. "Make this dead-alive hole a bit more lively, maybe. It needs it bad enough."
A strange thing happened to Max Van Duren that night. It was nearly midnight when he let himself in with his latch-key. His housekeeper had gone to bed long ago, and all was dark and silent. He lighted his bed-candle, and tramped slowly upstairs to his own room. He had put his candle on the dressing-table, and was proceeding to divest himself of his cravat, when, happening to glance into the large oval glass in front of which he was standing, he was startled to see there the reflection of another face beside his own. It was peering over his shoulder, and its eyes met his in the glass. Black and full of menace, or it might be of warning, were those eyes; and but for them, the face, with its thin line of black moustache, would have looked like that of a corpse, so death-like was its pallor.
Involuntarily Van Duren wheeled quickly round; but he was alone in the room. Involuntarily his eyes travelled back to the glass; but there was only the reflection of his own white face to be seen there now. He staggered back, and sat down in the nearest chair. But he was a man of very powerful nerve, and it did not take him long to recover himself. Presently he rose and crossed the room to a little cupboard. From this he drew a bottle of some cordial, out of which he poured a few drops into some water, and then drank the mixture.
There was a writing-table near the fire--when he was restless of a night, and could not sleep, he would often get up and work for an hour or two. At this table he now sat down, and drawing from a secret drawer a book of private memoranda, he proceeded to make the following entry in it, having first written down the day, month, and year of the occurrence:--
"At five minutes before twelve to-night I saw once again, and for the fourth time in my life, the Face in the Glass. It is some years since I saw it last, and I had begun to flatter myself that I should never see it again. Never have I seen it except as an omen of ill to follow. The first time it appeared to me was a few hours before I set foot on board the cursed 'Albatross.' The second time was the night before Katrinka tried to poison me, and all but succeeded. The third time was just before I heard the news of the great smash at Amsterdam, by which I lost half my fortune. Always as a presage of quick-following misfortune has that face appeared to me. And always his face! I shall dream of this for a month to come, and wake up every night shivering with horror. But what is the misfortune that is about to overtake me now? Vain question! Never did the horizon look fairer to me than it does at the present moment. Not the faintest cloud or sign of tempest anywhere visible. And yet, that something is about to happen--that some great crisis of my life is near at hand--I feel but too well assured. If only I knew where to look--if only I knew what to expect! But I am like a man who is condemned to fight a phantom in the dark.
"To-day I let my empty rooms to a deaf old gentleman and his daughter. What a bewitching creature the daughter is! Were I only twenty years younger, I know not into what folly I might be led by the sorcery of a face like hers."