"Rita must decide that, not we. So let us go to bed now."
"But, Hugo, you must promise me one thing. Be on your guard,—be on your guard."
He shook the old clerk's hand: "Rest easy, Elkish. I share your fears, and also your dislikes."
"I knew it. That's why I came to you. Good night, Hugo, with God's help all will come out right."
"Let us hope so."
When the door had closed upon the old man, Hugo fetched a deep sigh. It occurred to him how suddenly and apparently for no reason Rosenfeld had left, when the conversation had turned upon Dr. Weilen's intercourse with his family.
"Is it possible that he, too...." He stared fixedly into the burning embers for some time before he put out his lamp, and went to sleep.
* * *
It was the first of January. Rita sat reading in the small, cozy drawing-room. A bright wood fire crackled upon the hearth, lit for cheer only; for the house was well heated otherwise. Rita could not bear a cold and desolate fire-place, especially on a day like this, when the cold out of doors was severe. On such days only a flood of light and warmth could bring comfort indoors. It was hardly four o'clock, but the lamps were lit, and the electric light, shaded by bright bell-shaped glass globes, produced a pleasant effect.
Through the windows draped with costly lace curtains the waning daylight peeped and the flurries of large snow-flakes. Rita put her book aside, and gazed thoughtfully at the falling snow. How beautiful the flakes were!—the white floating crystals, that played at tag, and chased each other, and then fell so silently and so calmly. The snug comfort of a warm room was peculiarly attractive in contrast to the scene outside. Suddenly she thought of those who might be out in the cold. She glanced at the clock; it was almost four o'clock. "Mother must be just arriving now," she said to herself.