.

.
"On the transport she stood facing me on deck one moonlit evening for five minutes.

I saw her in 'Frisco; she sat in the Pullman twice between Denver and this city.

Twice in my room at the Vice-Regent she has sat opposite me at midday, so clear, so beautiful, so real that--that I could scarcely believe she was only a--a--" He hesitated.
"The apparition of her own subconscious self," said the Tracer quietly.
"Science has been forced to admit such things, and, as you know, we are on the verge of understanding the alphabet of some of the unknown forces which we must some day reckon with." Harren, tense, a trifle pale, gazed at him earnestly.
"Do _you_ believe in such things ?" "How can I avoid believing ?" said the Tracer.

"Every day, in my profession, we have proof of the existence of forces for which we have as yet no explanation--or, at best, a very crude one.