But Bertram Chesleigh held on his way undauntedly. It seemed to him that he had explored every room on that upper floor, when suddenly he discovered a little passage down which he turned and found himself in front of a closed door. The majority of the doors had stood open, swinging carelessly on their hinges. The midnight explorer did not know why his heart beat so strangely when he stood before this closed one. He turned the handle noiselessly, and entered, carefully closing the door behind him. In the large and lofty apartment, where he now found himself, a dim and shaded night-lamp was burning, thick, dark curtains shaded the windows, a large rug covered the center of the floor, a low, white cottage-bed stood in the furthest corner, draped in neat and spotless white. Then the midnight explorer started, and with difficulty repressed the cry that rose to his lips. For the soft, white counterpane thrown over the bed, outlined the curves of an exquisite, girlish form. On the white, ruffled pillow nestled a sleeping face as lovely as a budding rose. The round, white arms were thrown carelessly up above her head, the wealth of curling, golden hair, strayed in rich confusion over the pillow; the golden-brown lashes lay softly on the rosy, dimpled cheeks; the lips were smiling as if some happy dream stirred the white breast that rose and fell so softly over the innocent heart. "Ghost or human?" Bertram Chesleigh asked himself, as he gazed in astonishment and ecstacy at the beautiful, unconscious sleeper. He came nearer with noiseless footsteps and bated breath to the bedside. He bent so near that he could hear the soft, sweet breath that fluttered over the parted lips. "It is she," he said to himself, with mingled rapture and amaze. Then, in the next breath, he murmured: "I must beat a quiet retreat. How frightened and angry she would be, were she to awake and find me here!" He was one of the purest and most honorable minded men in the world. He turned to go, but could not tear his fascinated eyes from that beautiful, child-like, sleeping face. His splendid black eyes lingered on its innocent beauty in passionate admiration. "If I might only touch that little hand that lies so near me on the pillow, it would cool the thirst of my heart," he said wistfully to himself, while his heart beat fast with joy that he had found her again, this lovely creature of whom he had dreamed night and day for twenty-four hours. He looked at the sweetly-smiling, parted lips, and his pulses thrilled at the remembrance of the tender caress he had pressed upon them such a short while before. Carried away by the force of as pure and mad a passion as ever thrilled the heart of man, the enraptured lover bent his head and pressed a kiss as soft and light as the fall of a rose-leaf on the white hand that lay so temptingly near him.