uing the sudden interest
and curiosity which this young man's last words had awakened. And the
awe which crept over her countenance was the fittest interpretation to
those noble sounds, which the one weary-hearted man in that room could
have found.

"I have something to tell you, Ona," remarked Mr. Sylvester shortly
after this, as the music being over, they all sat down for a final chat
about the fireside. "I have received notice that the directors of the
Madison Bank have this day elected me their president. I thought you
might like to know it to-night."

"It is a very gratifying piece of news certainly. President of the
Madison Bank sounds very well, does it not, Paula?"

The young girl with her soul yet ringing with the grand and solemn
harmonies of Mendelssohn and Chopin, turned at this with her brightest
smile. "It certainly does and a little awe-inspiring too;" she added
with her arch glance.

"Your congratulations are also requested for our new assistant cashier.
Arise, Bertram, and greet the ladies."

With a blush his young nephew arose to his feet.

"What! are you going into the banking business?" queried Mrs. Sylvester.
"Mr. Turner will be more shocked than ever: he chooses to say that
bankers, merchants and such are the solid rock of his church, while the
lighter fry such as artists, musicians, and let us hope he includes us
ladies, are its minarets, and steeples. Now to make a foundation out of
a steeple will quite overturn his methodical mind I fear."

Mr. Sylvester looked genially at his wife; she was not accustomed to
attempt the facetious; but Paula seemed to have the power of bringing
out unexpected lights and shadows from all with whom she came in
contact.

"A clergyman who rears his church on the basis of wealth must expect
some overturning now and then," laughed he.

"If by means of it he turns a fresh side to the sun, it will do him no
harm," chimed in Paula.

Seldom had there been so much simple gaiety round that fireside; the
very atmosphere grew lighter, and the brilliance of my lady's picture
became less oppressive.

"We ought to have a happy winter of it," spoke up Mr. Sylvester with a
glance around him. "Life never looked more cheerful for us all, I think;
what do you say, Bertram my boy."

"It certainly looks promising for me."

"And for me," murmured Paula.

The complacent way with which Mrs. Sylvester smoothed out the feathers
of her fan with her jewelled right hand,--she