Thornton leaned forward a little, watching him.

Silence fell again—­there was no sound save the almost inaudible scratching of Madison’s pen.  Upon Mrs. Thornton’s face was a happy, radiant smile; Helena’s face was impassive, but in the dark eyes lurked a puzzled light; the two Holmes sat awkwardly, still upon the edges of their chairs, gazing at their son across the room, incredulously, as though they still could not believe—­and occasionally Mrs. Holmes wiped her eyes.

Madison’s pen moved on:  “Pay to the order of Miss Helena Vail the sum of ten thousand dollars.”  He carefully inscribed the amount in numerals in the lower left-hand corner.  “Honest,” he confided to himself, as he signed the check, “I feel so philanthropic I could almost make myself believe I had this money in the bank.”  He tore the check from its stub, and, standing up, handed it to Helena.  “I am not a rich man, Miss Vail, as I said,” he smiled gravely, “but I can give this, and I give it with great joy in my heart.”

Helena took the check, glanced at it, gasped a little, lifted her eyes, an instant’s mocking glint in them, and veiled them quickly with her long lashes.

“No”—­Madison’s hand, palm up, went out protestingly—­“no, do not thank me—­it is little enough.”  He sat down again, drew the Patriarch’s blank book toward him, and, on the line beneath the one where the Patriarch had ended his essay with the words, “such is the power of faith,” wrote his name and set down the amount of his contribution after it.

“Ten thousand dollars!”—­it was Mrs. Thornton speaking, as she took the check from Helena.  She turned quickly to her husband.  “Robert, have you your check-book here?”

Thornton shook his head.

“No, dear,” he said.  “I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Mrs. Thornton brightly.  “You can use one of Mr. Madison’s checks and write the name of your own bank on it—­you’ve often done that, you know.”

“A suggestion,” said Madison to himself, “for which I thank you, Mrs. Thornton—­it sounds so much less crude coming from you than from me.”  But aloud he said courteously, “Take my pen, Mr. Thornton.”

“Thank you,” said Thornton, as Madison placed it in his hand.

Mrs. Thornton and her husband had their heads together now, and were whispering—­Thornton with his eyes on Helena, who sat with lowered head, twirling Madison’s check in her hands.  Then Thornton drew the check-book toward him, scratched out the printed name of the bank that it bore, wrote in another, and went on filling out the check.

“Eeny-meeny-miny-mo,” said Madison to himself.  “The suspense is awful.  How much does he raise the ante?  Next to the miracle, this is the first real thrill I’ve had—­I feel like an elevator starting down quick.”

As Madison had done, Thornton tore out the check and handed it to Helena.  Helena stared at it, lifted her eyes to Thornton, flushed—­and looked down at the check again.