"I wonder--" said Hobart. "I was just thinking about that fellow
tonight. Strange! Well, let's get something hot--some coffee."

But it had given us something for discussion. Certainly it was
unusual. During the past few days I had been thinking of Dr.
Holcomb; and for the last few hours the tale had clung with
reiterating persistence. Perhaps it was the weirdness and the
tremulous intoxication of the music. I was one of the vast
majority who disbelieved it. Was it possible that it was, after
all, other than the film of fancy? There are times when we are
receptive; at that moment I could have believed it.

We entered the cafe and chose a table slightly to the rear. It was
a contrast to the cold outside; the lights so bright, the glasses
clinking, laughter and music. A few young people were dancing. I
sat down; in a moment the lightness and jollity had stirred my
blood. Hobart took a chair opposite. The place was full of beauty.
In the back of my mind blurred the image of Rhamda. I had never
seen him; but I had read the description. I wondered absently at
the persistence.

I have said that I do not believe in fate. I repeat it. Man should
control his own destiny. A great man does. Perhaps that is it. I
am not great. Certainly it was circumstance.

In the back part of the room at one of the tables was a young man
sitting alone. Something caught my attention. Perhaps it was his
listlessness or the dreamy unconcern with which he watched the
dancers; or it may have been the utter forlornness of his