Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece Part 35

"By looking."

"Still sceptical," said the wizard, who had very sharp ears; "shall I consult my book again?"

"No, no," said Mr. Mole, uneasily.

But Harry Girdwood said "Yes."

He did not want to end the scene yet.

"What would you?" demanded the magician sternly.

Harry commenced to whisper to Mr. Mole.

"Come, sir, pluck up your courage, and find out something about yourself. You know the past--why not ask him about the future?"

"He might be rude enough to say something unpleasant, Harry. However, I'll try him."

Then, with a very polite bow, Mr. Mole asked--

"Can you tell me, Mr. Magician, what my ultimate fate is?"

The necromancer took two steps forward and seized Mr. Mole's hand.

"I find that the line of life is tinged with the hue of blood," said he, in solemn tones, after a lengthened inspection of the palm.

"Dear me, how unpleasant--I washed my hands not long ago."

"Man! do you think you can wash away the decrees of fate or sponge out the solemn words written by the stars? You are an Englishman?"

"Certainly."

"Already six Englishman have sought me, and each of the six died a terrible death. What says the book?--

"A terrible death on this green earth, With never the slightest chance of heaven; Let him curse the day--the hour of his birth, The English victim numbered seven."

"And you are _Number Seven,_ Mr. Mole. May all the powers of heaven and earth preserve me from such a terrible doom as yours."

Mr. Mole almost fainted when the magician uttered such fearful words respecting his (Mole's) fate.

Harry Girdwood, however, handed him a rum flask, and a good pull at that restored his nerves.

"Pooh!" said he, "I don't believe a word he uttered."

"Still sceptical?" said the magician. "But to convince you of my power, I will show you any thing you like in my magic mirror."

"Very well, then, I should like to see Harkaway and Harvey at this present moment--just to ascertain what they are doing--that will be a test."

He chuckled as he said this.

But as he spoke the magic mirror grew light, and two figures were seen, set, as it were, in a frame.

Jack Harkaway the elder, was seated in an arm-chair reading; beside him stood his constant companion, d.i.c.k Harvey.

The latter's figure was the more remarkable of the two, and the att.i.tude was not merely characteristic, but it was startlingly like life.

One hand was in his pocket; the other was at his face, the thumb pointing at his nose, the fingers outstretched towards the audience.

"What do you think of that?" asked Harry Girdwood, in low tones.

"Marvellous!" cried Mole; "that is Harkaway and Harvey, sure enough.

Harvey has got something the matter with his nose."

"No," whispered Harry, "he's taking a sight at you."

"So he is. Just like Harvey. Harvey!" he called out.

The mirror darkened, and the figures faded away from the sight upon the instant.

"Do you desire still another proof of my skill?" asked the wizard.

"Well you can, if you like, tell me something more about myself; but don't put yourself to any trouble."

The wizard leant over his book earnestly for a consider able time.

"I see here," said he, "that you have contrived to keep one important matter secret from your friends."

"What?"

"The hairs of your head are numbered," continued the wizard.

Mr. Mole changed colour.

"How--what?"

"By the barber; you wear a wig."

"Oh, no--no!" exclaimed Harry Girdwood, positively, "You are wrong there, sir, I a.s.sure you. Is he not, Mr. Mole?"

"Of course he is."

"Will you see for yourself, unbelieving boy?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Where--say, where shall my familiar take it?"

"Up to the ceiling."

Mr. Mole groaned.