"You will recall that this mirror was constructed by a certain sorcerer," he began in an unpleasant tone. "And you will also recall that this sorcerer did you a great service once ... did he not, Majesty?" The Emperor looked startled, and then very grave. "He did ... but how came you to know of this?" "I shall elucidate when the time has come. Likewise, did you promise certain things to this sorcerer in return for his labors?" The Emperor's eyes smoldered with secret fury, but he said nothing. "This you ignored, and some moons agone had the wonderworker--I believe he was referred to as a blasphemer in the sentencing--this man you had brought before you and sent to the terrible tortures of Malyat. Am I not correct?" "That is common knowledge," asserted the ruler, uneasily. "And he was taken to his doom?" "My slaves seldom fail me." "I am grateful to your majesty, for truth was essential. I have the mirror here," said the old one, abruptly. "What wish you in return?" "It is yours--my payment will be given me in due time." And as the Emperor leaned forward, the man announced his identity and drew back his tattered robe, revealing the horror that lay beneath. Then as the Emperor gazed in fascinated repulsion, Khalda drew forth the mirror, with its strangely shapen handle, and held it up that all might see. And when the ruler looked therein, no man may know what was reflected, for a strange and terrible thing occurred. Some dire magic was at work, for the doom that came unto his majesty was alien to all accepted lines of death. The End * * * * * The Little Old Lady by P. J. Searles Connors was genuinely puzzled. What had happened to the old lady? Surely she could not have fallen from the car. On the other hand why should she have left before reaching her destination and how could she have got out without his notice? Her disappearance was perplexing. He had first seen the old lady when he had stopped to admire the picturesque church on the outskirts of Huntsville. Wearing an old fashioned, rather shabby, taffeta dress ornamented at the throat and wrists with bits of yellowed lace, a bonnet that proclaimed her adherence to the fashions of 1880; and with a sole jet pendant hanging from her neck, she was standing near the car as Connors came out of the church and strolled through the adjoining grave yard reading quaint inscriptions on the tombstones. Her manner was forlorn and pathetic as she edged timidly up to Connors to ask in a low voice if he were driving on to Milltown. When Connors replied in the affirmative the old lady hesitantly mumbled that she had not seen her daughter in Milltown for five years and could she ride into the city with him.