Cromwell closed and unclosed his hands, regarding them; and he sighed. Then it was to Ettarre he spoke: “I leave you in Master Major’s charge. It may be I shall not return alive into England; indeed, I grow an old man and feel infirmities of age stealing upon me. And so, farewell, my lass. Truly if I love you not too well, I err not on the other hand much. Thou hast been dearer to me than any other creature: let that suffice.” And with this leave-taking he was gone. As the door closed upon Cromwell’s burly figure, “No, be very careful not to touch me,” Kennaston implored. “The dream must last till I have found out how through your aid, Ettarre, this bull-necked country squire has come to rule England. It is precisely as I expected. You explain Cromwell, you explain Mohammed—Richelieu and Tamburlaine and Julius Cæsar, I suspect, and, as I know, Napoleon—all these men who have inexplicably risen from nothing to earthly supremacy. How is it done, Ettarre?” “It is not I who contrive it, Horvendile. I am but an incident in such men’s lives. They have known me—yes: and knowing me, they were bent enough on their own ends to forget that I seemed not unlovely. It is not the sigil and the power the sigil gives which they love and serve—” “And that small square mirror, such as Cromwell also carried—?” Kennaston began. “Or is this forbidden talk?” “Yes, that mirror aids them. In that mirror they can see only themselves. So the mirror aids toward the ends they chose, with open eyes.... But you cannot ever penetrate these mysteries now, Horvendile. The secret of the mirror was offered you once, and you would not bargain. The secret of the mirror is offered to no man twice.”