Gradually two separate and distinct images grew--one
behind the other, pale and death-like but distinct. He looked in wonder,
and the longer he looked the clearer stood this pale second reflection.
"That's funny!" he exclaimed.
He rose, rubbed his eyes, and walked to the mirror, examining it
curiously. He had always been a man of visions--this child of the woods
and open fields.
"I wonder if it's an illusion?" he muttered. "I'll try again."
He returned to the couch and lay down. Again it grew a second time
plainer than before, if possible. He watched for a long time with a
feeling of awe.
"I wonder if I'm looking into the face of my own soul?" he mused.
He studied this second image with keen interest. It was five shades
paler than the first. The thing had happened to him once before and his
wife had declared it a sign that he would be elected to a second term,
but the paleness of the second image meant that he would not live
through it. It was uncanny. He rose and paced the floor, laid down
again, and the image vanished. What did it mean?
Only that day a secret service man had come to warn him of a new plot of
assassination and beg him to double the guard.
"What is the use, my dear boy, in setting up the gap when the fence is
down all around?"
"Remember, sir, they shot a hole through your hat one night last week on
your way to the Soldiers' Home.
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