The old gentleman seemed to be so deeply in earnest that both Mr. Van Kuren and his sister readily promised to accede to his wishes, and Mr. Van Kuren was even induced to forego the intention he had formed of going the very next morning to the quarters of the hook and ladder truck, and lodging a complaint with the chief of the battalion. It was late when they finished their discussion, much later than they had thought, and as they arose to take their leave, a servant, coming in with an armful of wood for the fire, informed them that the snow had accumulated in such heavy drifts, as to make the roads almost impassable. And this information was confirmed by a glance through the window at the storm which was raging without. “You must not think of going home to-night!” exclaimed Mr. Dexter. “It will never do for you in the world, my dear Emma, to think of going out into such an awful storm as this. No, there are plenty of rooms in the house, and I will have fires built at once, so that you will be just as comfortable as you would be at that big hotel you’re stopping at. Not one of you shall leave the house to-night.” “But just think of poor little Laura all alone in that great, big hotel,” exclaimed Miss Van Kuren. “Suppose anything were to happen to her; why, I would never forgive myself to the last day of my life for leaving her there. And just fancy a fire breaking out in that place in the middle of the night! No, I really think that I ought to——” “You’ll stay where you are, all of you,” put in the hospitable old gentleman, in a voice that was full of pleasant authority, “and as for the hotel, it’s warranted strictly fire-proof. And I’m sure Laura is just as safe there as she would be if you were with her.” And so it was settled that the Van Kurens and Mr. Dexter’s lawyer should remain all night. And an hour later the last light was extinguished in the old mansion, and there was no sound to be heard about it save the raging of the storm. CHAPTER XXXVII. It is the unconsidered trifles of life which oftentimes shape human destinies. And what trifle is there of less importance than a window-curtain swayed by the midnight breeze? There was such a curtain swinging idly in the window of a dimly lighted room as the clocks in the tall church towers tolled the solemn hour of midnight. The wind was high now, and the snow, which had been falling for nearly six hours, was heaped upon the roofs of the tall houses, and lay in huge drifts about the streets, while the flakes which filled the keen winter air were blown so sharply in the faces of pedestrians that men found walking possible only by keeping to the middle of the street, and bending their heads down to the sharp blasts. Now and then a policeman, muffled up to his eyes, walked along, trying the doors of shops and other places of business to see that thieves were not busy during the storm.