Lady Wishaw’s Hand— I —
THE LEGACY
It was a woman’s hand. In life, in its proper place at the end of a woman’s arm, I could easily believe that it had been beautiful. But as it lay before me on the table, amidst the heap of papers in which it had been wrapped, I am bound to say that it was not its beauty that struck me first of all. One peculiar feature about it was its extraordinary state of preservation. Some embalming process must have been employed with which I was wholly unacquainted. It looked as if it were alive. Not only so! – when, after some not inconsiderable amount of hesitation, I ventured to pick it up, it felt warm to the touch. Almost unwittingly, I pressed it – as I might have pressed a friendly hand in greeting. It seemed to return my pressure. Of course, it was all ima
