Presently Rayel entered the room, bringing something in his
hand--a picture--which he held up to the lamplight. A girl's
face! and wonderfully like that of Hester Chaffin. I sat
amazed, staring at it. But the likeness was not exact, the
face was idealized--as I had seen it in my dream the night
before. I raised my eyes to Rayel's face. He was looking at
me with an expression of pain and embarrassment.



CHAPTER V


My uncle recovered the power of speech rapidly. Before I had
been a week in his house he was able to talk with
comparative ease. He seemed to enjoy my companionship, and I
spent most of my time in his library, conversing with him or
conning the musty books that had long lain unread. To me
this room was a fascinating and restful place. Somehow it
reminded me of an old cemetery. The time-worn books upon its
shelves stood in solemn rows, like headstones, sacred to the
memory of the men who wrote them--their titles like
inscriptions half obliterated. I did not see Rayel for days
after the midnight episode that gave me such a startling
revelation of his power.

"Do you think that Rayel knows everything that passes in
one's mind--a vivid dream, for instance?" I asked my uncle
one day when we were alone together.