success which Bertram had met in his first visit at Mr.
Stuyvesant's, was not the least agitating factor in this fortnight's
secret history. He was too much a part of the home life at Mr.
Sylvester's, not to make the lightest thrill of his frank and sensitive
nature felt by all who invaded its precincts. And he was in a state of
repressed expectancy at this time, that unconsciously created an
atmosphere about him of vague but restless excitement. The hearts of all
who encountered his look of concentrated delight, must unconsciously
beat with his. A strain sweeter than his old-time music was in his
voice. When he played upon the piano, which was but seldom, it was as if
he breathed out his soul before the holy images. When he walked, he
seemed to tread on air. His every glance was a question as to whether
this great joy, for which he had so long and patiently waited, was to be
his? Love, living and apotheosized, appeared to blaze before them, and
no one can look on love without feeling somewhere in his soul the stir
of those deep waters, whose pulsing throb even in the darkness of
midnight, proves that we are the children of God.

Cicely was uncommunicative, but her face, when Paula beheld it, was like
the glowing countenance of some sculptured saint, from which the veil is
slowly being withdrawn.

Suddenly there came an evening when the force of the spell that held all
these various hearts enchained gave way. It was the night of a private
entertainment of great elegance, to be held at the house of a friend of
Miss Stuyvesant. Bertram had received formal permission from the father
of Cicely, to act as his daughter's escort, and the fact had transformed
him from a hopeful dreamer, into a man determined to speak and know his
fate at once. Paula was engaged to take part in the entertainment, and
the sight of her daintily-decked figure leaving the house with Mr.
Ensign, was the last drop in the slowly gathering tide that was secretly
swelling in Mr. Sylvester's breast; and it was with a sudden outrush of
his whole determined nature that he stepped upstairs, dressed himself in
evening attire, and deliberately followed them to the place where they
were going. "The wealth of the Indies is slipping from my grasp," was
his passionate exclamation, as he rode through the lighted streets. "I
cannot see it go; if she can care more for me than for this sleek,
merry-hearted young fellow, she shall. I know that my love is to his,
what