slowly, as if in dread of what he might see.

What he saw was a man verging on sixty, lean and dark, with thin,
shaven cheeks of a bluish cast above the jaw, and a strongly
aquiline profile. Long, black locks swept the collar of his
coat, while his tall, spare figure was habited in sleek
broadcloth and spotless linen. For a moment the judge seemed to
struggle with doubt and uncertainty, then his face went a ghastly
white and the book slipped from his nerveless fingers to the
window ledge.

The stranger, his business concluded, swung about on his heel and
quitted the office. The judge, his eyes starting from their
sockets, stared after him; the very breath died on his lips;
speechless and motionless, he was still seeing that tall, spare
figure as it had passed before him, but his memories stripped a
weight of thirty years from those thin shoulders. At last,
heavy-eyed and somber, he glanced about him. Mr. Saul, bending
above his desk, was making an entry in one of his ledgers. The
judge shuffled to his side.

"Who was that man?" he asked thickly, resting a shaking hand on
the clerk's arm.

"That?--Oh, that was Colonel Fentress I was just telling you
about." He looked up from his writing. "Hello! You look like
you'd seen a ghost!"

"It's the heat in here--I reckon--" said the judge, and began to
mop his face.