Graustark. George Barr McCutcheon

hesitated an instant, her eyes wavering beneath his. The train was moving slowly now.

      “I pray that we may meet,” she said, softly, at last—so softly that he barely heard the words. Had she uttered no sound he could have been sure of her response, for it was in her telltale eyes. His blood leaped madly. “You will be hurt if you wait till the train is running at full speed,” she cried, suddenly returning to the abandoned merry mood. She pushed him gently in her excitement. “Don't you see how rapidly we are moving? Please go!” There was a terror in her eyes that pleased him.

      “Good-by, then,” he cried.

      “Adieu, my American,” she cried quickly.

      As he swung out, ready to drop to the ground, she said, her eyes sparkling with something that suggested mischief, her face more bewitching than ever under the flicker of the great arc lights:

      “You must come to Edelweiss to see me. I shall expect you!” He thought there was a challenge in the tones. Or was it mockery?

      “I will, by heaven, I will!” he exclaimed.

      A startled expression flashed across her face, and her lips parted as if in protestation. As she leaned forward, holding stoutly to the hand-rail, there was no smile on her countenance.

      A white hand fluttered before his eyes, and she was gone. He stood, hat in hand, watching the two red lights at the end of the train until they were lost in the night.