The old crone stood in the doorway, looking at me. "Ah! the Señor fears," she croaked. "Afraid of an old woman, alone and unarmed," and she cackled in glee. My mind was made up; stepping upon the threshold, I pushed the door wide open and entered. The old woman closed the door, and I was in total darkness. She moved about in the dark, until presently she struck two hard stones together, and going to where three great torches of light-wood were fastened in the wall, she lit them. Immediately the room became brightly illuminated, and I looked around. There was nothing in the hut; only a rough pile of leaves in the corner, which served as a bed, and a rough stone bench in the center of the room, together with a little wooden chest. Going to the chest, she raised the lid, calling as she did so to me, "Let the Señor seat himself upon the bench." I did so, and watched her movements, until finally she drew an article from the chest, and turning, held it out to me. I took it in my hands, and glanced down to see what she had given me. It was a polished disk of silver, perhaps a foot in diameter, curved and embossed with strange and barbarous shapes. I had seen naught like it in all my travels. "How camest thou by this?" I asked sternly. The old woman, her back to me, was groping again in the box. "Let not the Señor be troubled," she said dryly, "for the mirror was handed down to me from my fathers, who dwelt here in the days of yore. It is mine; be not uneasy on that score." And then from the box she drew a little stone image of a man, grotesquely shaped, with great staring eyes, and with a cold, sinister expression upon his carved face. She set it on the floor in front of me; as I looked at it, the face reminded me of someone whom I had seen. Yes, the same hard, cold look and hawk nose of Lord Dunraven; I was struck by the resemblance, for rough, uncouth as the image was, it resembled my lord. The old crone had sprinkled a yellow powder in front of the idol, and had lit it, and now she was kneeling in front of the image, crooning a low savage song, her eyes, keen and piercing through the smoke, fixed upon me. I rose in disgust. Was I a fool, to sit through such mummery as this? She called to me even as I stirred, "Let not the Señor arise; but a moment, and he will behold a sight upon the mirror such as he has never seen before. Let him wait but a moment, and gaze upon the disk." There was something in that look, eager, commanding, fixed upon me, that I could not resist. I resumed my seat. "I will remain but a moment," I said. "Quick with thy foolery, I am wearied and would go." "Look upon the glass!" she shrieked. "Look!"