At length Claire turned to the desk upon which were the account-books
that had been used during the day, and commenced turning the leaves of
one of them in a way that showed only a half-formed purpose. There was
an impulse to something in his mind; an impulse not yet expressed in
any form of thought, though in the progress toward something definite.
"Fifty dollars a day!" he murmurs. Ah, that shows the direction of his
mind. He is still struggling in temptation, and with all his inherited
cupidities bearing him downward.
Suddenly he starts, turns his head, and listens eagerly, and with a
strange agitation. Some one had tried the door. For a few moments he
stood in an attitude of the most profound attention. But the trial was
not repeated. How audibly, to his own ears, throbbed his heart! How
oppressed was his bosom! How, in a current of fire, rushed the blood
to his over-excited brain!
The hand upon the door was but an ordinary occurrence. It might now
be only a customer, who, seeing a light within, hoped to supply some
neglected want, or a friend passing by, who wished for a few words of
pleasant gossip. At any other time Claire would have stepped quickly
and with undisturbed expectation to receive the applicant for
admission. But guilty thoughts awakened their nervous attendants,
suspicion and fear, and these had sounded an instant alarm.
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