“What house was it from which you were coming when he passed you?”
“A building where Tueller and Co. do business, shady operators in paper, as you know.”
“And you believed he recognized you?”
“I cannot be sure, sir. It was dark, but I thought I saw him look at me and give a slight start.”
Ah, how desolate sounds the drip, drip of a ceaseless rain, when conversation languishes and the ear has time to listen!
“I will explain to Mr. Stuyvesant when I see him, that you were in search of a man with whom I had pressing business,” observed Mr. Sylvester at last.
“No,” murmured Bertram with effort, “it might emphasize the occurrence in his mind; let the matter drop where it is.”
There was another silence, during which the drip of the rain on the window-ledge struck on the young man’s ears like the premonitory thud of falling earth upon a coffin-lid. At length his uncle turned and advanced rapidly towards him.
“Bertram,” said he, “you have done me a favor for which I thank you. What you have learned in the course of its accomplishment I cannot tell. Enough perhaps to make you understand why I warned you from the dangerous path of speculation, and set your feet in a way that if adhered to with steadfast purpose, ought to lead you at last to a safe and honorable prosperity. Now—No, Bertram,” he bitterly interrupted himself as the other opened his lips, “I am in need of no especial commiseration, my affairs seem bound to prosper whether I will or not—now I have one more commission to give you. Miss Fairchild—” his voice quavered and he leaned heavily on the chair near which he was standing. “Have you seen her, Bertram? Is the poor child quite prostrated? Has this frightful occurrence made her ill, or does she bear up with fortitude under the shock of this sudden calamity?”
“She is not ill, but her suffering is undoubted. If you could see her and say a few words to relieve her anxiety in regard to yourself, I think it would greatly comfort her. Her main thought seems to be for you, sir.”