I looked down carelessly at the mirror in my hand. Unaccountably, marvelously, there was something dim, misty, and hazy, growing upon the polished disk; more and more distinct it became, until wonder of wonders, I looked into the violet eyes of Lady Margaret Carroll!--there, lovely, beautiful, divine, she gazed at me, gowned for some ball, a flower in her hair, the soft curved neck encircled by a chain of precious stones, her lovely dimpled chin, and little mouth curved as though laughing at its own red beauty. For a moment I looked at her, and then I was gazing at the vacant glass in my hand. I sprang to my feet. "Hag!" I cried, "what trick is this? Beware how thou triflest with me." The voice of the crone floated across to me through the smoke. "No trick," she mumbled; "'tis but the magic of the great white spirit. Would my lord behold his rival? Look!" And there upon the silver disk, with his brave, true eyes upon me, shone the face of Bobby Vane. "'Tis false!" I cried. "False! He would not act thus." "Wonder not," replied the crone. "Stranger things than this have happened; men would betray all for love of such a maid;" and she muttered something to herself. "Wouldst behold how thy friend conducts himself in thy absence with thy lady-love? Behold!" And there upon the glass I saw my lady and Bobby. They were at some dance or merry-making, for I could see dimly the moving forms around them. Suddenly they turned and passed out into a moonlit garden, and seated themselves in the shadow of some thick trees. I saw Bobby lean forward nearer that beautiful face; saw him whisper something into that little shell-like ear; saw the smile upon her face; and then, reaching out his hand, he took one of Margaret's in his own, and bent down as though to kiss her, looking into her beautiful blue eyes all the while. It was more than flesh and blood could stand. With an oath, I cast the mirror far from me, and throwing the cowering crone a coin, strode out from the miserable hut into the free air of heaven. CHAPTER IX THE LAST REVEL March, 1588, was here; I had been restrained of my liberty since the sixteenth day of September, 1586, Oliver and myself had made many schemes for our deliverance, but they had all come to naught. We could not cross the mighty sea without a vessel; there was nothing but frail canoes here--light, fragile, they would suffice for a brief sail, but they could never live through the thousands of miles of water that rolled between us and England.