“I knew that my mother was dead.
“In a little while I received a letter from the priest of the village in which she lived. They had buried her on the very day upon which the boy had seen this sight in the mirror of ink.”
Dr. Porhoët passed his hand across his eyes, and for a little while there was silence.
“What have you to say to that?” asked Oliver Haddo, at last.
“Nothing,” answered Arthur.
Haddo looked at him for a minute with those queer eyes of his which seemed to stare at the wall behind.
“Have you ever heard of Eliphas Levi?” he inquired. “He is the most celebrated occultist of recent years. He is thought to have known more of the mysteries than any adept since the divine Paracelsus.”
“I met him once,” interrupted Dr. Porhoët. “You never saw a man who looked less like a magician. His face beamed with good-nature, and he wore a long grey beard, which covered nearly the whole of his breast. He was of a short and very corpulent figure.”
“The practice of black arts evidently disposes to obesity,” said Arthur, icily.
Susie noticed that this time Oliver Haddo made no sign that the taunt moved him. His unwinking, straight eyes remained upon Arthur without expression.
“Levi’s real name was Alphonse-Louis Constant, but he adopted that under which he is generally
