Aleck buys his cane, and continues to keep a good distance between the couple and himself. They are simply looking at the curios displayed by the cunning Japs, and appear to be more engrossed with each other than the objects around. All of which causes our bachelor the most peculiar sensations of his life. At one moment he has firmly resolved that he will not seek the presence of this fair one on the succeeding night, and immediately he has bitter reflections, of which he is ashamed later on, reflections that bear upon Dorothy in the sense of her mother being brought up in the peculiar tenets of Oriental life, which in a measure may have descended to the daughter. Again his mind undergoes a change, and he scores himself for such a thought. He remembers the face first seen under the wintry sky of Canada, and again on the Ferris wheel of the Midway; remembers that she claimed her mission to be a sacred one, and until further proof to the contrary is brought he must believe in her innocence. What if this is some lover who has incurred the parental anger, and whom she dares not receive at home--he has the face and bearing of a true man. “Don’t imagine you have a mortgage on her affection, Aleck Craig,” he mutters sneeringly, as if to mock the strange feeling of pain that assails his heart; “and it's none of your business if by chance she has met her fate before discovering that a bachelor of your size was haunting the Fair looking for her. Well, perhaps I may strike up an acquaintance with this young fellow, and, confound it--be a brother to her yet.” “I thought it would happen. I looked for just that same thing to occur,” breaks in Wycherley, in a thrilling stage whisper. “What now?” asks Craig guiltily, fearing he has again been talking indiscreetly above his breath. “Wait a minute! Examine these elegant tablecloths worked with silk; aint they beauties? Now, the coast of Bohemia is clear.” Aleck of course turns his head quickly to see who has caused such commotion in the mind of his companion, and Wycherley watches the face of the Canadian, well knowing it will be an index to his feelings. A figure is moving down the aisle--a woman dressed attractively, but heavily veiled. As soon as Aleck’s eyes fell upon her graceful form, he is struck with the peculiar charm of her person, and the actor seeing this bends over to say: “I see, you, too, have guessed her identity. It is the Veiled Fortune Teller of Cairo Street--and yonder is Dorothy. Perhaps the strange events of this remarkable night are not yet concluded, my dear boy.” _BOOK TWO._ THE MAN FROM DENVER. CHAPTER IX. NEWS FROM COLORADO. Wycherley is right; Aleck has recognized the cloaked figure. There is some undefinable quality about her carriage that betrays her--a gliding movement, so totally unlike the action of an American. What adds power to the suspicion is the fact that she seems to follow the couple whose movements Aleck and his companion have been watching.