by Clark South
that of twentieth century America.
"Shut your eyes, Elaine!"
Wearily, the dying girl obeyed.
With one savage jerk, Mark whipped the cover from another stand. A standon which stood a mirror. A mirror whose surface seemed to ripple in thefading light. A circular mirror, full three feet in diameter. A mirrorwith a garishly ornate frame.
His hands trembling with feverish haste, Mark adjusted the picture toreflect in the glass.
Already the door was cracking.
He snatched Elaine from where she lay. Held her half-conscious bodybefore the mirror.
"Open your eyes, Elaine! Open your eyes and look at that girl in themirror! Concentrate on her, Elaine! _Concentrate!_"
His own eyes were fixed on the image of his twentieth century self thatGustav Jerbette had painted. His brain ached with the force of will hewas exerting. He felt himself falling through endless miles of space.Falling ... falling ... falling....
"Thank God!" exclaimed Professor Duchard fervently. "You both are safe!"
Dazedly, Mark and Elaine looked at each other across the narrow aisleseparating their white hospital beds. Across the room, sunlight streamedin an open window, its rays glistening on the snowy linen of a third butempty bed.
"What happened?" Mark queried in a bewildered tone. "I was in yourlaboratory, professor, and Vance rushed in--"
"You went through the time mirror, my boy. Back to eighteenth centuryFrance. And Vance went with you. Apparently he came too close to theglass in his eagerness to stop you; his eyes must have focussed on oneof the other figures from Jerbette's picture, reflected in the gapthrough the space-time barrier. He fell in a coma at the same instantyou did."
"But I don't remember anything!" Mark protested. "I was going to go backthrough time to save Elaine, even if I had to change history to do it.Then Vance came in, and everything went blank--"
"Yes," broke in Elaine. "The same thing happened to me. I was sitting infront of the mirror Adrian gave me. Then I saw my ancestor from thepainting, and I seemed to be falling--"
Professor Duchard nodded.
"Of course. Time travel apparently brings with it complete loss ofmemory--"
"But I was insulated against amnesia!" exclaimed Mark.
"Only on the trip back, my boy. Not on your return. No doubt youremembered the twentieth century while in the eighteenth. But yourreturn destroyed your memories of Bourbon France."
* * * * *
The younger man scowled.
"It doesn't make sense," he grunted. "I'm beginning to think the wholebusiness is so much imagination. After all, how could I transport Elaineback from 1780 to 1942? Or myself, for that matter--"
"Perhaps I have some information which will throw light on the subject,"the white-haired scientist interrupted. "Yesterday my old friend,Strong, the historian, was passing through the city. He came here to seeme.
"He told me he had run across Gustav Jerbette's unpublished memoirs inthe course of his researches. And Jerbette, in describing how he came topaint 'Elaine Duchard's Escape,' says the figure in the time mirror onwhich you concentrated--the man with the horse pistol--was the firstElaine Duchard's lover, Jacques Rombeau.
"Jerbette says Rombeau came to him with a strange assignment. First hetook him to the largest glass works in Paris and made him wait while thecraftsmen manufactured a special mirror to his order. Then Rombeau ledthe way to an abandoned chateau a few miles out of Paris. Elaine Duchardlay hidden on the top floor, desperately ill.
"Jerbette's job was to paint a picture of the girl and a strange man, asdescribed to him by Rombeau. Both wore clothes of a different type thanany then known, and were in strange surroundings. The job done, Rombeaudismissed the painter. Later, Jerbette says he heard that the two loverswere surprised and murdered by Baron Morriere and his men, although thebaron himself was killed in the fight.
"All this so intrigued Jerbette that he promptly painted his famous'Elaine Duchard's Escape,' showing the lovers getting away from thebaron's chateau."
Mark frowned. Shook his head.
"I see how you think it ties in, Professor," he admitted, "but there aretoo many loopholes."
The savant smiled.
"Yes, there are loopholes," he agreed, "but I do not think there are toomany.
"The strange portrait Jerbette painted unfortunately never turned upagain. It, of course, would be final proof. For if we found a picture ofyou--Mark Carter--and Elaine, in a twentieth century scene and wearingmodern clothes, yet painted by Gustav Jerbette, there could be no doubtthat your brain--cloaked in Jacques Rombeau's body--did the job.
"However, Jerbette does leave a very accurate description of the mirrorRombeau had made. And there is no doubt in my mind that it is the sameone Vance gave to Elaine."
"But it's impossible!" Mark protested. "I couldn't have made a timemirror with the primitive equipment of that era--"
"I believe you could. Our work in discovering the formula for the one Imade gave you a sufficient understanding of the device's fundamentals toconstruct a crude model."
"But a terrific bolt of electricity was required, professor. And therewas no electrical equipment in those days. It's a complete anachronism."
* * * * *
"You think so?" The old scientist smiled. "Well, I do not wonder. Youconvinced Jerbette that Jacques Rombeau was stark, raving mad."
"You mean--"
"What other conclusion could any sane mortal draw from the actions of aman who insisted on defying God and the elements by exposing greatcircular trays of molten glass on top of the highest tower in all Parisduring the worst electrical storm in years, until finally one of themwas struck by lightning?"
Mark stared open-mouthed. Again he and the bewildered Elaine exchangedglances. And instinctively their hands reached out across the aisle, tojoin in love's tender clasp. The happiness of utter confidence and peaceglowed in their eyes.
Then, still holding the girl's hand, Mark turned back to the professor.His brows knitted with incredulity.
"My God!" he exclaimed half to himself. "Could it be possible? Could Ihave done such a thing?"
Abruptly, he halted.
"No!" he clipped decisively. "There are other angles to be considered.Vance, for instance. You say he went with me through the time mirror--"
"Yes." The savant nodded slowly. "That, Mark, is the final proof. Theevidence beyond contradiction. The thing that convinces me--"
"Proof? Evidence? I don't get it."
"You will recall, Mark, that Jerbette's memoirs said Baron Morriere waskilled in that final battle with Jacques Rombeau?"
"Yes. Of course. What's that got to do with it?"
The scientist leveled a trembling finger at the window across the room,through which the sunlight still streamed. Never had he been moreimpressive. Solemn conviction gleamed in his blue eyes.
"Not five minutes before you and Elaine aroused from your state ofsuspended animation," he said, "Adrian Vance--still in a coma--sprangfrom his bed to that window and hurled himself to his death!"
Horror widened the two young people's eyes. Elaine's face was pale.
But understanding now was flooding through Mark. He nodded slowly.
"You can't change history!" he said.