But nonetheless did she herself sit up in the moonlight, listening with bended head for the sound of his step on the walk beneath. She could not sleep while he was absent; and yet the thoughts that disturbed her and kept her from her virgin pillow could not have been entirely for him, or why those wandering smiles that ever and anon passed flitting over her cheek, awakening the dimples that slumbered there, until she looked more like a dreamy picture of delight than a wakeful vision of apprehension. Not entirely for him—yet when somewhere towards three o’clock, she heard the long delayed step upon the stoop, she started up with eager eyes and a nervous gesture that sufficiently betrayed how intense was her interest in her benefactor’s welfare and happiness. “If he goes to Ona’s room it is all right,” thought she; “but if he keeps on upstairs, I shall know that something is wrong and that he needs a comforter.”
He did not stop at Ona’s room; and struck with alarm, Paula opened wide her door and was about to step out to meet him, when she caught a sight of his face, and started back. Here was no anxiety, that she could palliate! The very fact that he did not observe her slight form standing before him in the brilliant moonlight, proved that a woman’s look or touch was not what he was in search of; and shrinking sensitively to one side, she sat down on the edge of her dainty bed, dropping her cheek into her hand with a weary troubled gesture from which all the delight had fled and only the apprehension remained. Suddenly she started alertly up; he was coming down again, this time with a gliding muffled tread. Sliding past her door, he descended to the floor below. She could hear the one weak stair in the heavy staircase creak, and—What! he has passed Ona’s room, passed the bronze figure of Luxury on the platform beneath, is on his way to the front door, has opened it, shut it softly behind him and gone out again into the blank midnight streets. What did it mean? For a moment she thought she would run down and awaken Ona, but an involuntary remembrance of how those lazy eyes would open, stare peevishly and then shut again, stopped her on the threshold of her door; and sitting down again upon the side of her bed, she waited, this time with opened eyes eagerly staring before her, and quivering form that started at each and every sound that disturbed the silence of the great echoing house. At six o’clock she again rose; he had just reentered and this time he stopped at Ona’s room.
XIV
A Day at the Bank
“There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,
Hamlet
Rough-hew them how we will.”
There are days when the whole world seems to smile upon one without stint or reservation. Bertram Sylvester wending his way to the bank on the morning following the reception, was a cheerful sight to behold. Youth, health, hope spake in every lineament of his face and brightened every glance of his wide-awake eye. His new life was pleasant to him. Bach, Beethoven and Chopin were scarcely regretted now by the ambitious assistant cashier of the Madison Bank, with a friend in each of its directors and a something more than that in the popular president himself. Besides he had developed a talent for the business and was in the confidence of the cashier, a somewhat sickly man who more than once had found himself compelled to rely upon the rapidly maturing judgment of his young associate, in matters oftentimes of the utmost importance. The manner in which Bertram found himself able to respond to these various calls, convinced him that he had been correct in his opinion of his own nature, when he informed his uncle that music was his pleasure rather than his necessity.
Entering the building by way of Pearl Street, he was about to open the door leading into the bank proper, when he heard a little piping voice at his side, and turning, confronted the janitor’s baby daughter. She was a sweet and interesting child, and with his usual good nature Bertram at once stopped to give her a kiss.
“I likes you,” prattled she as he put her down again after lifting her up high over his head, “but I likes de oder one best.”
“I hope the other one duly appreciates your preference,” laughed he, and was again on the point of entering the bank when he felt or thought he felt a hand laid on his arm. It was the janitor himself this time, a worthy man, greatly trusted in the bank, but possessed of such an extraordinary peculiarity in the way of a pair of protruding eyes, that his appearance was always attended by a shock.
“Well, Hopgood, what is it?” cried Bertram, in his cheery tone.
The janitor drew back and mercifully shifted his gaze from the young man’s face. “Nothing sir; did I stop you? Beg pardon,” he continued, half stammering, “I’m dreadful awkward sometimes.” And with a nod he sidled off towards his little one whom he confusedly took up in his arms.
Now Bertram was sure the man had touched him and that, too, with a very eager hand, but being late that morning and consequently in somewhat of a hurry, he did not stop to pursue the matter. Hastening into the Bank, he assisted the teller in opening the safe, that being his especial duty, and was taking out such papers as he himself required, when he was surprised to catch another sight of those same extraordinary organs
