This longing, however, was held in check by the thought of the story he had heard the evening before, and also by the hope of seeing again the face he had beheld for a few fleeting seconds at the street crossing.  In fact, he had thought more of it than of the mysterious disappearance of Henry Redmond.  For the greater part of the night and all the next day the girl had been in his mind.  He tried to recall something more about her, the color of her hair, how she was dressed, and whether she was tall or short.  But he could remember nothing except the face which alone stood out clear and distinct.  Several times during the day he had been on the point of transferring his impressions to paper, but he always deferred action, preferring to muse upon the beautiful vision he had seen and to dream of meeting her again.  She must still be in the city, he reasoned, and should he go away now his chance of finding her would be lost forever.  That he would find her he had not the slightest doubt, for among the crowds that passed daily along the streets he would surely see her, and when he did—­well, he was not certain what would happen.  Anyway, he would know more about her than at present.  He was standing watching an old man with a long gray beard and wavy hair falling below a broad-brimmed slouch hat.  He was evidently a prospector, for he bore a good-sized pack across his right shoulder, and was dressed as if for the trail, with a pair of coarse boots upon his feet.  His figure was commanding, almost patriarchal, and Reynolds watched him with much interest as he walked stately and deliberately up the gangway.

As Reynolds turned from his observation of the old man, he gave a great start, and his heart beat wildly, for there but a few feet from him was the very girl he had seen at the street crossing.  She had just alighted from an hotel auto, and was pointing out her baggage to one of the cabin boys when Reynolds noticed her.  He leaned eagerly forward to catch the sound of her voice, but the noise around him made this impossible.  But he had a chance to feast his eyes upon her face, and to note her neat dark-brown travelling suit which fitted so perfectly her well-built erect figure.  She was of medium height, and carried herself with complete assurance as one well accustomed to travel.  She was apparently alone, for no one accompanied her as she presently went on board the steamer.

Reynolds was all alert now, and his old-time enthusiasm returned.  She was going north, and why should not he go too?  Once more thought and action became welded, and finding that it would be three-quarters of an hour before the steamer’s departure, he hurried back to his boarding house, gathered together his few belongings, including his artist’s outfit, thrust them into a grip, settled his board bill, and almost raced to the Telegram and Evening News building, where he found the editor who had just arrived for his nightly duties.