to catch it if it fell, our young traveler's eyes were riveted upon an
object which he now felt inclined to catch, whether it fell or not.
It was a small white shapely hand--a woman's hand; and the midnight
tresspasser would have been less than human if he had not risen to a
better view. There it was, just peeping between the heavy curtains,
white and blue-veined, with tapering fingers and shell-like nails. How
he longed to touch it! How tempting the rounded curve of the small wrist.

A prolonged lunge threw him violently forward, when grasping the rod to
save himself, his lips went plump against the coveted object. It was
only momentary, but it thrilled him as with an electric shock. When he
recovered his equilibrium the fair sleeper had withdrawn entirely out of
sight, and her involuntary assailant addressed himself to the duty of
disrobing. Long he pondered upon the "touch of a vanished hand," and at
last fell into uneasy dreams wherein the world had come to an end, and
he found himself at the gates of heaven, with five soft white fingers
turning the key on the other side.

"Last call for breakfast," shouted the porter next morning, and the
confusion of voices mingled with the noisy folding of vacated berths.

Parting his curtains, Hervey Leslie peered out, possibly to catch a
morning view of the pretty hand.

"By Jove! better still!" was his smothered comment, as he hastily turned
away.

What he had seen was the perfection of a French boot, buttoned high, and
protruding modestly below the curtains. Then a soft voice called--"Porter,
I should like to get down."