“Downright reality, my man!” said the banker. “Stop crying; save your tears for a more fitting occasion. Put the rolls in your pocket, and go home.” Greifmann’s coldness was effective in sobering down the man intoxicated with joy. “May I ask, sir, what your name is, that I may at least know to whom I owe my rescue?” “Seraphin is my name.” “Your name sounds like an angel’s, and you are an angel to me. I am not acquainted with you, but God knows you, and he will requite you according to your deeds.” Gerlach nodded gravely. The banker was impatient and murmured discontentedly. Holt carefully pocketed the rolls of money, made an inclination of gratitude to Gerlach, and went out. He passed slowly through the hall. The porter opened the door. Holt stood still before him. “I ask your pardon, but do you know Mr. Seraphin?” asked he. “Why shouldn’t I know a gentleman that has been our guest for the last two weeks?” “You must pardon my presumption, Mr. Porter. Will Mr. Seraphin remain here much longer?” “He will remain another week for certain.” “I am very much obliged to you,” said Holt, passing into the street and hurrying away. “Your intended has a queer way of applying his money,” said the banker to his sister the next morning. And he reported to her the story of Seraphin’s munificence. “I do not exactly like this sort of kindness, for it oversteps all bounds, and undoubtedly results from religious enthusiasm.” “That, too, can be cured,” replied Louise confidently. “I will make him understand that eternity restores nothing, that consequently it is safer and more prudent to exact interest from the present.” “’Tis true, the situation of that fellow Holt was a pitiable one, and Hans Shund’s treatment of him was a masterpiece of speculation. He had stripped the fellow completely. The stupid Holt had for years been laboring for the cunning Shund, who continued drawing his meshes more and more tightly about him. Like a huge spider, he leisurely sucked out the life of the fly he had entrapped.” “Your hostler says there was light in Seraphin’s room long after midnight. I wonder what hindered him from sleeping?” “That is not hard to divine. In all probability he was composing a sentimental ditty to his much adored,” answered Carl teasingly. “Midnight is said to be a propitious time for occupations of that sort.” “Do be quiet, you tease! But I too was thinking that he must have been engaged in writing. May be he was making a memorandum of yesterday’s experience in his journal.” “May be he was. At all events, the impressions made on him were very strong.” “But I do not like your venture; it may turn out disastrous.” “How can it, my most learned sister?”