me."

"Oh, the fortune may go," she said. "The future is ours, and we are
young. But who shall console my grandfather in his old age for his
bankruptcy?"

"As the stream," said Lala Roy, "which passeth from the mountains to
the ocean, kisseth every meadow on its way, yet tarries not in any
place, so Fortune visits the sons of men; she is unstable as the wind;
who shall hold her? Let not adversity tear off the wings of hope."

They could do nothing more. Arnold replaced the paper in the packet,
and gave it to Iris; they put back the ledgers and account-books in
the safe, and locked it up, and then they went upstairs.

"You shall go to bed, Iris," said Arnold, "and you, too, Lala Roy. I
shall stay here, in case Mr. Emblem should--should want anything."

He was, in reality, afraid that "something would happen" to the old
man. His sudden loss of memory, his loss of self-control when he spoke
of his bankruptcy, the confusion of his words, told clearly of a mind
unhinged. He could not go away and leave Iris with no better
protection than one other weak old man.

He remained, but Iris sat with him, and in the silent watches of the
night they talked about the future.

Under every roof are those who talk about the future, and those who
think about the past; so the shadow of death is always with us and the
sunshine of life. Not without reason is the Roman Catholic altar
incomplete without a bone of some dead man. As for the thing which had
been stolen, that affected them but little. What does it matter--the
loss of what was promised but five minutes since?

It was one o'clock in the morning when Lala Roy left them. They sat at
the window, hand-in-hand, and talked. The street below them was very
quiet; now and then a late cab broke the silence, or the tramp of a
policeman; but there were no other sounds. They sat in darkness
because they wanted no light. The hours sped too swiftly for them. At
five the day began to dawn.

"Iris," said Arnold, "leave me now, and try to sleep a little. Shall
we ever forget this night of sweet and tender talk?"

When she was gone, he began to be aware of footsteps overhead in the
old man's room. What was he going to do? Arnold waited at the door.
Presently the door opened, and he heard careful steps upon the stairs.
They were the steps of Mr. Emblem himself. He was fully dressed, with
his usual care and neatness, his black silk stock buckled behind, and
his white hair brushed.

"Ah, Mr.