in the
interests of the stranger who now held the promissory note. It was, of
course, impossible for me to communicate this view of the circumstances
to either of my two companions. I could only suggest a patient reliance
on time, and the preservation of discreet silence on Minna's part, until
her mother set the example of returning to the subject.

My vaguely-prudent counsels were, naturally enough, not to the taste of
my young hearers. Fritz openly acknowledged that I had disappointed him;
and Minna turned aside her head, with a look of reproach. Her quick
perception had detected, in my look and manner, that I was keeping my
thoughts to myself. Neither she nor Fritz made any objection to my
leaving them, to return to the office before post-time. I wrote to Mr.
Engelman before I left my desk that evening.

Recalling those memorable days of my early life, I remember that a
strange and sinister depression pervaded our little household, from the
time when Mr. Engelman left us.

In some mysterious way the bonds of sympathy, by which we had been
hitherto more or less united, seemed to slacken and fall away. We lived
on perfectly good terms with one another; but there was an unrecognized
decrease of confidence among us, which I for one felt sometimes almost
painfully. An unwholesome atmosphere of distrust enveloped us. Mr. Keller
only believed, under reserve, that Madame Fontaine's persistent low
spirits were really attributable, as she said, to nothing more important
than nervous headaches. Fritz began to doubt whether Mr. Keller was
really as well satisfied as he professed to be with the choice that his
son had made of a portionless bride. Minna, observing that Fritz was
occasionally rather more subdued and silent than usual, began to ask
herself whether she was quite as dear to him, in the time of their
prosperity, as in the time of their adversity. To sum up all, Madame
Fontaine had her doubts of me--and I had my doubts (although she _had_
saved Mr. Keller's life) of Madame Fontaine.

From this degrading condition of dullness and distrust, we were roused,
one morning, by the happy arrival of Mrs. Wagner, attended by her maid,
her courier--and Jack Straw.

CHAPTER XXIII

Circumstances had obliged my aunt to perform the last stage of her
journey to Frankfort by the night mail. She had only stopped at our house
on her way to the hotel; being unwilling to trespass on the hospitality
of her partners, while she was