Roberts came in just then, and excusing himself, Harris left the office.
Walter went over to the old man’s desk and watched him as he slowly took out a large photograph from a mailing envelope. Andrews gave one glance at it, then with a shriek he flung the picture to the floor and sank into a chair pale as a sheet. Mr. Roberts looked at him in blank amazement.
“I am not feeling well,” he explained as he picked up his hat to go home.
The picture which his partner had shown him was a duplicate of the face he had seen in his dreams, and which, without doubt, was the same which his friend had seen.
III.
The train to Mulford slowed down at the station of the little seaport town and from one of the parlor cars a young woman stepped out to the platform.
“She was beautiful.” There was no denying the fact. Even the most unemotional man would have stared long and hard at the retreating figure once he caught sight of her face.
Anthony Roberts stepped out from the interior of the station and kissed his niece impulsively.
“Now then, Harris,” said a voice at his ear, “dare you say that that beautiful woman is not good?”