obey, and he was gone."

"A horrid dream, of course. Is that all?" asked Rose.

With his eyes on the fire and his left hand half extended, Treherne went
on as if he had not heard her.

"I thought it was a fancy, and soon recovered myself, for no one had
seen or heard anything of Gordon, and my native servant lay just outside
my tent. A strange sensation remained in the hand the phantom touched.
It was cold, damp, and white. I found it vain to try to forget this
apparition; it took strong hold of me; I told Yermid, my man, and he
bade me consider it a sign that I was to seek my friend. That night I
dreamed I was riding up the country in hot haste; what led me I know
not, but I pressed on and on, longing to reach the end. A half-dried
river crossed my path, and, riding down the steep bank to ford it, I saw
Gordon's body lying in the shallow water looking exactly as the vision
looked. I woke in a strange mood, told the story to my commanding
officer, and, as nothing was doing just then, easily got leave of
absence for a week. Taking Yermid, I set out on my sad quest. I thought
it folly, but I could not resist the impulse that drew me on. For seven
days I searched, and the strangest part of the story is that all that
time I went on exactly as in the dream, seeing what I saw then, and led
by the touch of a cold hand on mine. On the seventh day I reached the
river, and found my friend's body."

"How horrible! Is it really true?" cried Mrs. Snowdon.

"As true as I am a living man. Nor is that all: this left hand of mine
never has been warm since that time. See and feel for yourselves."