“I am glad,” Bertram politely returned with a frank smile, “to have enjoyed the approval of so cultivated a critic as Mr. Turner. I own it occasions me a pang now and then,” he remarked to his uncle over his shoulder, “to think I shall never again call up those looks of self-forgetful delight, which I have sometimes detected on the faces of certain ones in my audience.” And he relapsed without pause into a solemn anthem, the very reverse of the stirring tones which he had previously accorded them. “Now we are in a temple!” whispered Paula, subduing 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.