"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Goole grimly; "let her sleep. I never can sleep in these things. I sat up all night without a wink." "Oh, yes, let her sleep," said her father; and so they dashed on. Eight o'clock passed, half-past eight, nine o'clock, and yet no sign from number six. Meanwhile obsequious waiters came in from the kitchen-car. The breakfast would be spoiled,--one breakfast had been spoiled already. De Alcantara consulted with old Bryan. "Lucy," said old Bryan at last to Lucy Lander, "you must wake her. You girls will faint without your coffee. And in half an hour more there will be no breakfast." Lucy assented, a little unwillingly, went to number six, withdrew the brooch, and put her head inside the curtains, and then--a shriek from Lucy. She flung the curtains back, and no Hester was there! What was worse, no Hester had been there. The compartment had not been "made up," it would seem. Here were the two sofas, here was the _Wreck of the Grosvenor_, here was a faded nosegay, just as they had left them when they fell to playing euchre. But here was no Hester Bryan. Where was the girl? What had she done with herself? De Alcantara turned on Mrs. Goole like a wild creature. He was ready to throttle her in his rage. "This is some confounded joke of yours, ma'am!" But no; she was no such actress as to feign that dismay and horror. "It is he," she shrieked, pointing at her speechless brother, "it is he! He fell asleep, and the minx passed him at his door." No. Old Bryan was no such fool as to sleep at his post. "Sartin" he had not slept a wink since this porter came upon the train at Chimborazo. Porter and brakemen were alike confident that no one had left the car at either door. The brakemen testified for the whole time. The porter was certain after Chimborazo. Then the window of number six was examined,--a double window, and stuck fast with new varnish. Everyone remembered that they could not start it the day before, when Hester tried to throw out a banana-peel. And if she had opened both windows, not Rebecca of York herself could have closed them after her, poised upon nothing, and the train rushing underneath at the rate of forty miles. From section nine, however, which had not been made up, and of which the windows were ajar, Miriam Kuh, one of the St. Louis bridemaids, produced a handkerchief. It had lain on the top of the Saratoga trunk. It was Hester's handkerchief,--one of the _trousseau_ handkerchiefs,--and tied in a close knot was the engagement-ring Baltasar de Alcantara had given her. Those windows--the windows of section nine--were ajar. But that proved nothing. Baltasar himself said he started those windows for more air after everyone was asleep. Besides, a hawk could not crowd out of those cracks; and if Hester had opened them further, how did she close them again?