Elias watched him--down and across the street, and up her stoop--till he vanished in her vestibule. For what seemed an eternity, the boy remained out of sight. Then, presently, he reappeared; and in a minute or two was again at his employer's side. “Well,” questioned Elias, “well, did--did you see her?” “Yes, sir; sawr 'er.” It made Elias's heart beat to realize that this boy had just stood in his lady's presence, had looked full upon her, breathed the atmosphere that she glorified, listened to the celestial music of her voice. It was with something akin to reverence for the young barbarian, that he repeated: “You saw her, you actually saw her!” “Well, so I remarked, sir,” replied the boy. “And---- and you gave her the note?” “That's what I done, sir.” “What did she say?” “Say? She didn't say nawthing.” “Nothing at all? Not a word?” “Well, sir, here's how it was. I says, 'Redwood?' and she says, 'Yes;' and I says, 'Sign;' and she signed; and that's all there was _to_ it.” “She signed? Have--have you got her signature?” “Why, certainly. Here you are,” The boy exhibited a bit of pink paper, upon which, in the hand that he knew so well, Elias, with a breath-taking thrill, read her name: “Christine Redwood.” He took the paper between his fingers. It was like a talisman. Her touch, scarcely a moment since, had warmed it, her face shadowed it. He had to struggle with himself, to keep from carrying it to his lips, and kissing it, then and there. “What--how much--will you take for this paper?” he demanded of the boy. “Nawthing. Got to return it to the office.” “I'll give you a dollar for it.” “Jimminy! You must want it pretty bad.” “Well, will you part with it for a dollar?” The boy reflected; wrestled with temptation for an instant; in the end said: “Well, sir, all is, you'll have to sign me another; that's all, sir. Let's have the dollar.” He produced a duplicate bit of pink paper, upon which Elias executed the only forgery of which he was ever guilty. Then a bright silver dollar changed hands. Our hero pocketed his invaluable purchase, and set his face toward Central Park. XXI. BACK and forth, among the pine-trees that had been witnesses of the happiest moments of his life; over the carpet of frozen pine-needles, every inch of which was holy ground to him, because her foot had trodden it in the past; through the intense cold and stillness; Elias marched, waiting for her to come. Harder than ever was the frost that bound and benumbed his senses; but in his heart, there was the heat of battle. Hope and doubt struggled together there, in mortal combat. At one instant, doubt getting the upper hand, he would cry: “Will she come? No, God help me, it is most unlikely. I may as well make up my mind to it. She will not come.”