"Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the ev'ning
Steal across the sky."
Paul listened reverently, with bowed head. How appropriate the words seemed to be. In very truth had the shadows been stealing across the sky that evening, and they had not yet dispersed. Brockman, the man without, was still hovering darkly, like a cloud, over that house. Again the singers within raised their voices:
"Through the long night-watches,
May Thine angels spread
Their white wings above us,
Watching round each bed."
Paul echoed those words very earnestly in his heart as his hand clasped tightly the letter for which he had risked so much. The room was an addition to the house, and led by a separate door into the garden. When the singing had ended, Paul stepped softly to the door and knocked gently on it with his knuckles. It was opened by one of the servants. The light of the lamp fell upon Paul as the door opened, and the eyes of all in the room turned to him as he stood there, with the letter in his hand.
"Can I see Mr. Moncrief?"
"I am Mr. Moncrief. What is it you want with me, my lad?" said that gentleman stepping forward.
