With fingers that unconsciously trembled, she hastily undid the package. A little box rolled out. Taking off its cover, she took out a plain gold locket of the style usually worn by gentlemen on their watch-chains. “Fasten it on for me,” said he.
Wondering at his tone which was almost solemn, she quietly did his bidding. But when she essayed to lift her head upon the completion of her task, he gently laid his hand upon her brow and so stood for a moment without a word.
“What is it?” she asked, with a sudden indrawing of her breath. “What moves you so, Mr. Sylvester?”
“I have just taken a vow,” said he.
She started back agitated and trembling.
“I had reason to,” he murmured, “pray at nights when you go to bed, that I may be able to keep it.”
“What?” sprang to her lips; but she restrained herself and only allowed her glance to speak.
“Will you do it, Paula?”
“Yes, oh yes!” Her whole heart seemed to rush out in the phrase. She drew back as at the opening of a door in an unexpected spot. Her eye had something of fear in it and something of secret desperation too. He watched her with a gaze that strangely faltered.
“A woman’s prayers are a man’s best safeguard,” murmured he. “He must be a wretch who does not feel himself surrounded by a sacred halo, while he knows that pure lips are breathing his name in love and trust before the throne of the Most High.”