I looked back at
my uncle with a little anxiety. My reader may remember that, when he came
to fetch me from Rising, the day after I was lost on the moor,
encountering a mirror at unawares, he started and nearly fell: from this
occurrence, and from the absence of mirrors about the house, I had
imagined in his life some painful story connected with a mirror.
Once again I saw him start, and then stand like stone. Almost immediately
a marvellous light overspread his countenance, and with a cry he bounded
forward. I looked again at the mirror, and there I saw the self-same
light-irradiated countenance coming straight, as was natural, to meet
that of which it was the reflection. Then all at once the solid
foundations of fact seemed to melt into vaporous dream, for as I saw the
two figures come together, the one in the mirror, the other in the world,
and was starting forward to prevent my uncle from shattering the mirror
and wounding himself, the figures fell into each other's arms, and I
heard two voices weeping and sobbing, as the substance and the shadow
embraced.
Two men had for a moment been deceived like myself: neither glass nor
mirror was there--only the frame from which a swing-door had been
removed. They walked each into the arms of the other, whom they had at
first each taken for himself.
They paused in their weeping, held each other at arm's-length, and gazed
as in mute appeal for yet better assurance; then, smiling like two suns
from opposing rain-clouds, fell again each on the other's neck, and wept
anew.
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