"Who-who-is this?" stammered young Webster, pointing to the portrait of a thick-set man who figured in a group.
"An old clerk of mine," replied Mr. Cass, trying hard to steady his voice. "That is a photograph of the clerks in my office some twenty years ago. Why should that face disturb you?"
"I--I--don't know," was the stammering reply. "Have I seen him in a dream? His face is quite familiar to me."
"Pooh! Nonsense!" Mr. Cass had by this time recovered his self-command. "The man died long ago you never saw him."
"But I have seen him," persisted Neil. "I have seen him in a dream, and"--his voice leaped an octave--"I hate him," he exclaimed with passion. "I hate him."
They all stared in amazement. Suddenly Ruth cried "Neil--you are ill--you----"
"Stop!" cried her father, sharply. "He has fainted."
And as he spoke Neil fell back insensible on the cushions.