Jingleberry was fairly staggered. What could be the meaning of so
extraordinary a freak of nature? Surely it must be prophetic. Fate was
kind enough to warn him in advance, no doubt; otherwise it was a trick.
And why should she stoop to play so paltry a trick as that upon him?
Surely fate would not be so petty. No. It was a warning. The mirror had
been so affected by some supernatural agency that it divined and reflected
that which was to be instead of confining itself to what Jingleberry
called "simultaneity." It led instead of following or acting coincidently
with the reality, and it was the part of wisdom, he thought, for him to
yield to its suggestion and retreat; and as he thought this, he heard a
soft sweet voice behind him.
"I hope you haven't got tired of waiting, Tom," it said; and, turning,
Jingleberry saw the unquestionably real Marian standing in the doorway.
"No," he answered, shortly. "I--I have had a pleasant--very entertaining
ten minutes; but I--I must hurry along, Marian," he added.
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