Strona 137 z 896

Over the prisoner's head there was a mirror, to throw the light

down upon him. Crowds of the wicked and the wretched had been

reflected in it, and had passed from its surface and this earth's

together. Haunted in a most ghastly manner that abominable place

would have been, if the glass could ever have rendered back its

reflections, as the ocean is one day to give up its dead. Some

passing thought of the infamy and disgrace for which it had been

reserved, may have struck the prisoner's mind. Be that as it may,

a change in his position making him conscious of a bar of light

across his face, he looked up; and when he saw the glass his face

flushed, and his right hand pushed the herbs away.