At the time it was written, Colonel Becker and his wife were either in London or Liverpool, or crossing the Atlantic.

No matter how similar the two letters appeared to him, he realized that, under the circumstances, the same person could not have written them both.

For many minutes he sat back in his chair, with his eyes half-closed, absorbing the comforting heat of the fire.
Again the old vision returned to him.

In a subconscious sort of way he found himself fighting against it, as he had struggled a score of times to throw off its presence, since the girl's letter had come to him.
And this time, as before, his effort was futile.

He saw her again--and always as on that night of the Hawkins' ball, eyes and lips smiling at him, the light shining gloriously in the deep red gold of her hair.
With an effort Steele aroused himself and looked at his watch.