bove
you in blessing. May every pang I suffer this hour, redound to you in
some sweet happiness hereafter. I do not quarrel with my fate, I only
ask God to spare you from its shadow. And He will. Love will flow back
upon your young life, and in regions where our eye now fails to pierce,
you will taste every joy which your generous heart once thought to
bestow on

"EDWARD SYLVESTER."

XL.

HALF-PAST SEVEN.

"I would it were midnight, Hal, and all well."

--HENRY IV.

The library was dim; Bertram, who had felt the oppressive influence of
the great empty room, had turned down the lights, and was now engaged in
pacing the floor, with restless and uneven steps, asking himself a
hundred questions, and wishing with all the power of his soul, that Mr.
Sylvester would return, and by his appearance cut short a suspense that
was fast becoming unendurable.

He had just returned from his third visit to the front door, when the
curtain between him and the hall was gently raised, and Paula glided in
and stood before him. She was dressed for the street, and her face where
the light touched it, shone like marble upon which has fallen the glare
of a lifted torch.

"Paula!" burst from the young man's lips in surprise.

"Hush!" said she, her voice quavering with an emotion that put to
defiance all conventionalities, "I want you to take me to the place
where Mr. Sylvester is gone. He is in danger; I know it, I feel it. I
dare not leave him any longer alone. I might be able to save him if--if
he meditates anything that--" she did not try to say what, but drew
nearer to Bertram and repeated her request. "You will take me, won't
you?"

He eyed her with amazement, and a shudder seized his own strong frame.
"No," cried he, "I cannot take you; you do not know what you ask; but I
will go myself if you apprehend anything serious. I remember where it
is. I studied the address too closely, to readily forget it."

"You shall not go without me," returned Paula with steady decision. "If
the danger is what I fear, no one else can save him. I must go," she
added, with passionate importunity as she saw him still looking
doubtful. "Darkness and peril are nothing to me in comparison with his
safety. He holds my life in his hand," she softly whispered, "and what
will not one do for his life!" Then quickly, "If you go without me I
shall follow with Aunt Belinda. Nothing shall keep me in the house
to-night."

He felt the