"To-morrow," he repeated, with a low, exultant laugh. "To-morrow! Ah! what a happy day to-morrow will be to some sorrowing hearts that I know of. Take courage, sweet Lily Lawrence! To-morrow shall see you restored to the arms of your father and your lover! Let me see—to-morrow is the twenty-fourth of December. What a triumphant Christmas eve it will be for me!"
He walked on some distance to where he had secured his horse, and mounting him in haste, rode away full of plans for his next day's happy mission to sorrowing hearts.
[CHAPTER XXXVI.]
It was the twenty-fourth of December and Mr. Lawrence sat alone in his elegant office at the bank, musing sadly before the glowing fire in the grate.
The banker looked worn and sad, and now and then a heavy sigh parted his well-cut lips, and a dimness crept over his fine blue eyes.
He was thinking of his beautiful elder daughter whose tragic death had well-nigh broken his fatherly heart.
He brushed his handkerchief across his eyes and sighed heavily.
There was a knock at the door and a clerk entered with Mr. Shelton's card.