Avison's Bank had been built about twenty years. It had been erected on the site of a much older building which dated from the period of William and Mary, and, after serving for several generations as the family mansion of the Colvilles, had been converted into a bank. The present structure was a plain but substantial building of red brick with freestone facings. It was entered from the street through large folding inner doors which swung easily to-and-fro on their well-oiled hinges. On the right a glazed swing-door led into the public office, where sundry clerks behind a long counter were prepared to honor your cheques, or to receive at your hands whatsoever sums you might be desirous of entrusting to the safe keeping of the Bank. This outer office was divided from an inner one by a half-glass partition. In the inner office John Brancker and Ephraim Judd were generally to be seen busily engaged on the Bank ledgers; John, as the senior official next to Mr. Hazeldine, being there to be referred to in case of any dispute or doubtful point cropping up in the outer office. This inner office had a second door which opened into the main corridor, and a third door into a fireproof room where books and securities could be safely lodged. On the left, as you entered from the street, were also two doors, both of which bore the word "Private." The first of them opened into Mr. Hazeldine's office, the second into that of Mr. Avison. In the former was the entrance to the strong room in which were the bullion safes, together with other things of scarcely less importance. In this room there was no window, and during business hours the gas was kept constantly alight in it, ventilation being supplied by means of a small grated opening in the outer wall. Finally, there was a door of communication between Mr. Hazeldine's office and that of Mr. Avison.

As Sweet, the night-watchman, had informed Mr. Hazeldine, John Brancker and Ephraim Judd were at work this evening in the inner office. It was no unusual thing for them to work overtime at certain periods of the month. John Brancker had been in the service of the Bank for between sixteen and seventeen years. He was a homely-featured, plainly-dressed man of five-and-forty, with no pretentions to style or fashion. It was this very unpretentiousness, in conjunction with a certain simplicity of character and a cheerfulness of disposition that never varied, which combined to make him such a universal favorite; everybody in the town knew John Brancker and everybody liked him.

Ephraim Judd was twenty years younger than his fellow-clerk. Mr. Avison the elder had brought him to the Bank when a boy, and there he had been ever since. He was lame, the result of an accident in childhood, and he made use of a stout stick when walking to and from business, although he never seemed to need it when passing from one part of the Bank to another, but got over the ground with a sort of hop and skip which had rather a comical effect in the eyes of strangers. He was a tall, narrow-chested young man, with long, straight, black hair, a sallow complexion, and thin, eager, hungry-looking features. His ears were abnormally large and stuck out prominently from his head, and it was a matter of common report among his fellow clerks that Ephraim could move them backward or forward, after the fashion of certain animals, at will. Like John Brancker, he dressed very plainly, almost shabbily, presenting thereby a marked contrast to some of the juniors, with their chains and rings and elaborate display of collar and cuffs. Mr. Judd's chest was delicate, and when the weather was at all bad he wore a respirator, and at other times he generally muffled himself up carefully about the throat in a long, worsted comforter of many colors. It might be for the same reason, perhaps, that he nearly always wore india rubber overshoes; but that could hardly be the reason why his stick should be shod with the same material. By means of his galoshes Ephraim was enabled to move noiselessly about from place to place, and he sometimes quite startled Sweet, who was pursy and scant of breath, by going up behind him and touching him suddenly on the shoulder when he had no idea that anyone was near him.

"Drat that Mr. Judd with his ingy-rubber shoes!" the night-watchman would say to his wife. "I wish he wouldn't shake one's narves so. He steals about the building like a ghost, or--or as if he was going to commit a burglary; and one never knows whether he's behind one, or in front of one, or where he is."

It was somewhat singular that Ephraim should be so little of a favorite among his fellow clerks--but so it was. He was a man not much given to talking; he kept his own counsel, making friends of nobody, giving offence to none, and seemingly trying to efface himself as much as possible; yet everybody seemed to have a vague distrust of him; everybody had the feeling that he was a man who hid more than he showed on the surface--everybody, that is, except simple-hearted John Brancker, who was proud of Ephraim's cleverness at figures, and proud of his handwriting, which was the best of anyone's in the Bank.

Sweet put his head into the office where the two men were at work. "Mr. Hazeldine has come, sir," he said, addressing himself to Mr. Brancker. "I thought you might perhaps have something you wanted to see him about."

"I don't think I shall trouble him to-night," answered John; "he will be tired, and what matters I have to see him about will keep till morning."

Sweet disappeared and shut the door.

"If I were in Mr. H.'s place, I'd take care not to work as hard as he does," remarked Ephraim.

"When a man's heart is in what he does, as Mr. Hazeldine's is, hard work becomes a pleasure."

"What a pretty girl his daughter is!" resumed Ephraim, after a few moments' silence. "Just the sort of young lady I should like to make up to, if I were in a position to do so."

John laughed.

"Yes, Miss Hazeldine is pretty--nobody can deny that; but whether she would make the sort of wife to suit a man like you may be open to doubt."

"Oh, you are a confirmed old bachelor, Mr. B., and are not supposed to know anything about the ladies."

A shadow flitted across John's face for a moment.

"May it not be because we old bachelors know so much about the ladies that we remain bachelors?" he asked, with a smile. "Have you any idea, Ephraim, of making up to Miss Hazeldine?"

"Now you are poking fun at me, Mr. B. As if she would condescend to look at a poor beggar like me!"

John shut up his inkstand and began to put away his books.

"Are you going to stay much longer?" he asked.

"I shall finish this ledger and then be off. I've had about enough of figures for one day."

John presently bade the other good-night, leaving him still perched on his high stool. A sharp walk of ten minutes carried him home. He lived in a pleasant little semi-detached cottage in the suburbs. There was a small garden in front of his house and a larger one behind, with wide-stretching meadows beyond, and a low range of hills crowning the horizon.

John halted for a moment with his hand on the garden gate. A sound of music reached him from the cottage. His niece--Hermia Rivers--and Clement Hazeldine were playing a duet on the piano and violin.

"What capital time they keep!" he said to himself. "They are playing something I've never heard before. I suppose Mr. Clement has been having some new music from London."

John's terrier heard its master's footsteps on the gravel, and began to bark a welcome; the duet ceased in the middle of a bar; Hermia ran to the door, greeted her uncle with a kiss, and relieved him of his hat and coat, the cat came and purred round his legs, its tail erect in the air; his sister met him with that cheery smile without which home would not have seemed like home; and Clement Hazeldine gave him a hearty grip of the hand.

"We were missing your flute sadly," said the latter. "I have brought two or three fresh pieces this evening, and we were trying one of them over."

"You are very late, dear; but I have kept the teapot in the cosy for you," said Miss Brancker.

"And there's a fire which plainly says, 'Why don't you let me toast you some muffins,'" added Hermia.

"Sweet brought me up some tea about six o'clock," said John; "but I daresay I can manage another cup."

"Of course you can, uncle," rejoined Hermia. "Why, I have known you drink four cups many a time, and then ask for more."

"That must have been when I was very thirsty indeed; but little girls should never tell tales out of school."

Presently Hermia was on her knees toasting a couple of muffins at the sitting-room fire, for at Nairn Cottage the kitchen fire was allowed to go out after the early two o'clock dinner, when the girl, who came to do the rough work in the morning, was dismissed for the day.

"I left your father at the office," remarked John to Clement. "He has been to London, and I fancy that he did not get back till the seven o'clock train."

"I wish he would not stay so late, night after night," answered Clement. "Have you not noticed how care-worn he has been looking of late?"

"I can't say that I have remarked much difference in him, but that may be because I see him every day."

Clement shook his head.

"He has certainly aged very much of late. I was quite pained the other day to see him so worn and anxious-looking. I wish he would take a couple of months' rest right away from business."

John smiled.

"I know him better than you do, Mr. Clement. He would be miserable away from the Bank. But when Mr. Avison returns there will be no necessity for him to work so hard; and you must talk to him seriously about his health."

When John had finished his modest cup of tea he took up the poker and gave four loud taps with it on the back of the grate. Presently there came four taps in response, and a few minutes later Mr. Kittaway, John's next door neighbor, came in, followed by a servant girl carrying his violoncello in its case.

Mr. Kittaway was a retired wine merchant. He was a little, high-dried, bald old gentleman, with gold-rimmed spectacles, and an enormously high and stiff white cravat, above which his puckered face peered out as though he were gazing at one over a wall.

"What can have become of Frank?" queried John, presently. "It must be more than a week since he was here last. He's not ill, or I should have missed him from the office."

No one save Clement noticed the vivid blush that dyed Hermia's cheek. Fortunately the question was addressed to Miss Brancker.

"When he was here last he was all agog to join the New Spanish class at the Institute," responded the latter. "He has a great idea about reading 'Don Quixote' in the original."

"Frank is always agog after something new," said John, with a laugh, "which more often than not comes to nothing in the end. He's as changeable as the moon, as I've told him many a time. Still, he might have given us a look-in before now."

"If you were to walk as far as the 'Crown and Cushion'--not that it would be worth anyone's while to do so," remarked Mr. Kittaway, in his dryest manner--"I have no doubt you would find Master Frank at the present moment practising the spot-stroke, with the stump of a cigar between his teeth, and his hat very much at the back of his head."

It was known to all those present that there was no love lost between the ex-wine merchant and Frank Derison.

"There are four of us--just a comfortable quartete," resumed the little man--"which, in my opinion, is much preferable to a quintete; more especially when one of the five happens to keep execrable time."

This was another hit at the absent Frank.

"Come, come, friend Nathan," said John, slapping him lightly on the knee. "Frank's not quite so bad as you try to make out. He may be fond of a game of billiards--nowadays most young men seem to be--but where's the harm? I've often wished I could handle a cue; but I don't think I could if I were to try for a hundred years. And as for the bad time Frank keeps when he plays, I put that down to pure carelessness."

"There ought to be no carelessness where music is in question," interrupted the little man, hotly. "Music calls forth, and will be content with nothing less than the highest faculties of a man's nature; and where those are not given ungrudgingly, the result is a farce, sir--a wretched farce." He emphasized his last words with a vicious twang of one of the strings of his 'cello.

John laughed, but said nothing. He was too accustomed to his friend's tirades to attempt any confutation of them.

And so the little concert began. Hermia sat down to the piano, John brought out his beloved flute, Clement screwed up the strings of his fiddle, while Mr. Kittaway settled his spectacles and gave a preliminary scrape or two on his 'cello. Miss Brancker fixed herself in a corner near the fire with her knitting and a kitten on her lap.

Charlotte Brancker was two years younger than John, and was a feminine copy of him. She had the same homely features, somewhat softened in their outlines, but charged with goodness in one case as in the other. There was the same pleasant smile, the same ever-cheerful manner, the same thoughtfulness for the comfort of others. Two more thoroughly unselfish people than John Brancker and his sister it would have been hard to find.

Hermia Rivers, their orphan niece, had lived with them since she was three years old. She was now turned twenty, and was a very lovely girl. Her hair was the color of ripe corn in sunlight; her eyes were of the hue of violets when they first open their dewy lids to the morn; her face was instinct with thought and refinement.

It is almost needless to say that Clement Hazeldine was very much in love with her, although he had grave reasons for fearing that her heart was already given to Frank Derison. That there was some secret understanding between the two, his eyes, rendered keen by love, had not failed to convince him; and a secret understanding between two young people can, as a rule, have but one termination. Greatly he feared the worst; but there was a stubbornness of disposition about him which would not allow him to give up while a grain of hope was left to sustain him.

Meanwhile, he found it impossible to keep away from Nairn Cottage. Two or three evenings a week found him there, and he was always made welcome. The ostensible object of his visits was to form one in the little musical gatherings which, every Monday and Thursday evenings, wooed "the heavenly maid" in Miss Brancker's sitting-room.