Emma Ward, too, thought the moon particularly bright that night; in fact she might almost have been regarded as a lunatic; so steadily did she gaze at the moon, and smile to herself without any apparent motive. There was reason for her joy, however, for she had come to know, in some mysterious way, that Frank Willders loved her; and she had known, for a long time past, that she loved Frank Willders. Frank had become a foreman of the Fire Brigade, and had been removed from his former station and comrades to his new charge in the city. But Frank had not only risen in his profession; he had also risen intellectually. His mother had secured to him a pretty good education to begin with, and his own natural taste and studious habits had led him to read extensively. His business required him to sit up and watch when other men slept. He seldom went to bed before four o'clock any morning, and when he did take his rest he lay down like the soldier in an enemy's country, ready to rush to arms at the first sound of the bugle. His bugle, by the way, was a speaking-trumpet, one end of which was close to the head of his bed, the other end being in the lobby where the men on duty for the night reposed. During these long watches in the silent lobby, with the two men belted and booted on their tressels, the clock ticking gently by his side, like the soft quiet voice of a chatty but not tiresome friend, Frank read book after book with absorbing interest. History, poetry, travel, romance--all kinds were equally devoured. At the particular time of which we write, however, he read more of poetry than of anything else. The consequence was that Frank, who was one of nature's gentlemen, became a well-informed man, and might have moved in any circle of society with credit to himself, and profit as well as pleasure to others. Frank was by nature grave, sedate, earnest, thoughtful. Emma was equally earnest--more so perhaps--but she was light-hearted (not light _headed_, observe) and volatile. The result was mutual attraction. Let philosophers account for the mutual attraction of these qualities as they best may, we simply record the fact. History records it; nature records it; experience--everything records it; who has the temerity, or folly, to deny it? Emma and Frank _felt_ it, and, in some mysterious way, Frank had come to know something or other about Emma's feelings, which it is not our business to inquire into too particularly. So, then, Frank also gazed--no, not at the moon; it would have required him to ascend three flights of stairs, and a ladder, besides passing through a trap to the roof of the station, to enable him to do that; but there was a lamp over the fireplace, with a tin reflector, which had quite a dazzling effect of its own--not a bad imitation of the moon in a small way--so he gazed at that, and thought it very bright indeed; brighter than usual.